Dramatis Personae
by turbomagnus
Summary: A series of character vinegettes for the characters I use in Heavy Metal War and War For Cybertron.
1. Custodes : Stormmaster

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Custodes'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>Decepticon base<br>Sol system, planet Mars  
>circa-A.D. 1000, human Gregorian Calendar.<p>

The former Ground Commander of the Decepticon Battlefleet was in standby mode to reduce power drain, despite a minor malfunction in his air-cooling systems that caused a cavitating backwash through his circulatory ducts. In human terms, Stormmaster snored in his sleep.

He was awoken by a voice, "Commander, if you require recharge, I can complete Delta watch alone."

Stormmaster increased the power to his systems and recognized the speaker, "Uplink."

The large red Transformer nodded in acknowledgement, "Commander."

The other Transformer raised and lowered the feed from his optics - in essence, blinked - a couple times, "How long was I out?"

"Only point zero four per cent of the rotational cycle. You realise that you don't have to stand watch, Commander, if there's other activities requiring your attention."

"I didn't feel like recharging," Stormmaster answered defensively, "My defragmentation protocols keep bringing up the old days - before the war... the Sundering... Exodus..."

"Ah," was Uplink's response, "I suppose you'd feel more about that than many of us, Commander, you were in the midst of it, after all."

The black mech nodded slowly, "One could say that I have a better understanding of the situation than most."

Uplink was easily twice the size of his commanding officer, but the smile that graced his face belied him being a gentle giant - at least outside a laboratory, "Your gift for understatement is remarkable, Commander."

Behind the visor that hid his eyes, the facial structure surrounding one shifted as Stormmaster did the Cybertronian equivilent of raising an eyebrow, "Was that a joke?"

Uplink's head tilted to one side, "I believe so, Commander."

"You're getting better," Stormmaster informed him, "It's only taken you a few million years."

Uplink stood up and paced the length of the room before returning, "Commander, I don't understand why you insist on using human terminology... with respect, we're not humans, it's... highly inaccurate."

"That's the key word, 'respect'... I respect humans, Uplink... It's been three thousand years since we arrived on this planet and began watching our neighbors... in that time they've gone from simple stone tools and plant-based shelters to creating metal armor and stone fortresses, running from predators to asserting themselves... They've progressed much further than we have as a species in any equivilent length of time, despite their own limitations. Give them another thousand years and what will they create, what will they be doing? There's the distinct possibility that we'll be their first encounter with a species other than themselves, Uplink... They may be physically deficient compared to us, but their numbers are greater and they have a surprising capacity to go beyond what they should be capable of. We shouldn't underestimate them, they could be a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy."

"Commander..."

"Enough, Uplink... consider yourself relieved of watch, I'll complete Delta shift myself," Stormmaster turned his attention to the long-range sensors focused on the neighboring blue orb, "I doubt I could clear enough processor space to recharge anyway."

"Commander, I..."

"Go, Uplink."

"Yes, Commander," Uplink tapped his right fist against his chest, then turned and left the room.


	2. In Nomen Dea : Athena

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'In Nomen Dea'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>Decepticon base<br>Sol system, planet Mars  
>circa-1100 B.C.E., human Gregorian Calendar.<p>

To a race that by its very nature changed forms on a regular basis, names and appearances were transitory things, gender was merely a matter of preference resulting from interaction with other species and was equally subject to change. The black mech was well aware of this; almost everything he was now was nothing he had been created as, before the black and silver body, the assault weapons systems, before he had been Stormmaster of the Decepticons he had been just another Autobot in 'Iacon orange', hauling cargo around without thinking what it meant for him.

Stormmaster rested his elbows on his knees and knit his hands together, a common pose when the former Ground Commander was in contemplation. Normally, he didn't get involved in minor alterations - if he did, he'd never get anything done with all the tweaking Uplink constantly performed on himself, among some of his other troopers - but this was only technically a minor alteration considering that it was coming from one of the section commanders among the group of Decepticons that had followed him during the Sundering, which meant that it involved access codes, emergency authorizations, security protocols, chain of command... the whole kind of logistical mis-wire that gave him the glitches. Not to mention the personal aspect of the situation.

Gender was merely a matter of preference because Transformers didn't reproduce by sexually or asexually, rather a body shell was contructed - typically by an experienced engineer/medic - the personality chip was programmed - either by again an experienced technician or on rare occasions by copying and merging parts of the code from two other chips, or on even rarer occasions by the Vector Sigma supercomputer if one had access to a key - and finally the laser core was charged. The three systems were interdependent; a chip and core were nothing more than an intelligent computer without a body, a body with a laser core and no personality was simply a drone, and if the laser core lost all its power without a secondary source, the personality chip would be useless no matter the state of the body shell. Because there was no reproductive drive in the organic sense, Transformer relationships lacked the instinctive component of attempting to find a mate that would produce the best offspring.

During the last Golden Age of Cybertron, entire schools of more esoterically minded Transformers had attempted to develop explanations as to why, without that factor, relationships still developed. Some of the theories had been almost spiritual, such as being created by Vector Sigma that way, to psychological in that it was simple in sentient nature to seek out companionship, to the simply ridiculous idea that they were secretly programmed with gender traits when they were created. All Stormmaster knew and cared to know about the subject was that, for whatever reason, Transformers did gravitate into pairings and in some cases groups. The situation's personal aspect came from the fact that the Transformer standing across the desk from Stormmaster, the one here to confirm their change in name, was his partner.

Dozens of words from as many languages that he had picked up since his creation ran through Stormmaster's central processor, but only one finally made it out through his vocalizer, "Why?"

Skystriker tilted 'her' head and blue optic band met red, "It's hard to explain, Storm'... I suppose the only correct answer is that 'it feels right'."

"I'm sorry," Stormmaster's response wasn't one of 'superior who overstepped their bounds', but of 'partner who realises they just made a serious mistake', "It's simply that you've never been one to make serious changes on a whim. You've been 'Skystriker' as long as I've known you..."

Stormmaster's head tilted towards his office door, "So, longer than some of the shinies have been active, even."

'Shiny', a term used to refer to Transformers created after the speaker, referring to new shiny metal as opposed to older worn and corroded metal. The irony of the term was that it was normally used by those old enough to remember the last Golden Age to describe those created after the beginning of the Great War.

He raised a hand to forestall the comment he knew was coming, "I know, I know, it's your choice. Primus knows that's what we fought for back then... I just thought, you've had it so long, that you were... comfortable with 'Skystriker'."

"I was, but..." She lifted a leg and half-perched on his desk, "Well, how did you become 'Stormmaster'?"

"I challenged the reigning gladiatorial champion for a place on his personal team and when I won he gave me the name," Stormmaster moved his hands apart and then brought them back together in a varient of a shrug.

"That's how you got the name," came the counter, "Not how it became 'your' name."

"I had just traveled across half of Cybertron to get away from my old life, it meant acceptance into a new one, it wasn't that hard... you know all this, 'Striker."

"And we've traveled... To tell the truth, I've actually lost track of how long and how far we've traveled in this Exodus..."

He hadn't, but he didn't say anything to interrupt.

"...or why we ended up on this planet instead of any other," she continued, then paused to purge her air intakes - a Transformer sigh, "I don't even know why I did what I did... But when they called me that name, something felt right, Storm'. For the first time in a long time, it felt like I was where I should be, when I should be. It finally felt like I was making a difference again, not just trying to survive."

He understood, he had felt more alive the first time he involved himself in a back-alley fight than he had in all the time he had been active until that point. It had been that feeling that had set him on the path to Tarn and what would come.

"Okay, if you're sure," Stormmaster raised his head and raised his voice, "Computer, confirm alterations, authorization Storm-Zero-Nine-Nine-Nine-Obsidian. Change all references to unit designate 'Skystriker' to unit designate 'Athena'. Confirm."

"Confirmed," the primary base computer answered back, "Point zero eight rotational cycle will be required for completion."


	3. Ready To Believe : Ecto 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

...It'd probably be more fun if it didn't sometimes feel like I had the only level three and four Autobots in HMW...

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Ready To Believe'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>Manhattan Island, New York City<br>Sol system, planet Earth  
>A.D. 1986, human Gregorian Calendar.<p>

Sitting in traffic at the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street, the Transformer reached a simple conclusion. He loved this town. Cars could transform into twenty foot tall robots and start walking down the streets and not one New Yorker would care on most days. It took more than that to get to them. Not that he would transform - strange as it was, he actually enjoyed the traffic as part of the 'New York Experience' and it gave him time to think.

On Cybertron, before the war, he had been considered a joke by the established scientific community for many of his theories and beliefs. It amazed him how those in authority would say that they were more than simply machines, but at the same time would band together to shout down anyone who actually tried to prove such a thing because engineering and physics are 'real' science... Metaphysics and what the humans had entitled 'Parapsychology' - 'the study of that which cannot be explained' - however, were considered wastes of resources and 'foolish misinterpretations'.

Here on Earth, they were considered accepted fields of endeavour and, since that movie had been made two years before, a cultural phenomenoa. Precedius thought of that as one of humanity's most interesting qualities, their willingness to explore a concept even with no proof that anything will result of it, just to say that they had done so, being told something was impossible just serving to make them that much more determined to prove that its possiblity. He understood why his commander both respected and to a degree feared humans, he felt the same for similar reasons.

Thinking about the movie, if he had been transformed, would have caused an involuntary psuedo-musculine contraction to occur in Precedius' face. He had enjoyed the movie from both an entertainment standpoint and from a professional one. Some of the scientific conclusions matched those he had endorsed on Cybertron, despite being arrived at independently, and the technological basis of the equipment the characters used was sound enough that - admittedly driven by a gambling impulse - Uplink and his team had been able to duplicate some of the devices. Duplicates, in fact, that he now carried after his last rebuild, something of a whim based on a feeling of kinship with the movie's main characters as a fellow academican whose non-standard views saw them forced out by the mainstream. Privately, he enjoyed the feeling he got whenever his new alternate mode was recognized, despite the legal complications of the matter.

Human minds being transferred into Transformer bodies, several Transformers from both the Autobots and Megatronian Decepticons being sent back in time, the discovery of Atlantis, even New York City itself being sunk below ground for a time due to one of Megatron's plots, those just in the years since the Autobot Ark reactivated, were proof of some of the strange things that could happen, for whatever reason. Not even considering abilities that some Transformers had that they used without even fully understanding them, Precedius realised; invisibility, telepathy, teleportation, to name a few - according to acquired information, one of the Autobot femmes even had the ability to stop time for a short period. All of this and there were still so many who had trouble accepting the existance of things beyond the explanation of Cybertronian - and, now that there was open communication between the two races, human - science.

It could almost be funny if he didn't consider it so tragic.

"All units be advised," The emergency services scanner that was part of Precedius' communications system crackled to life, breaking him from his thoughts "We have a disturbance at the Museum of Natural History. Any available unit, form a cordon and wait for S.W.A.T. Be advised, reports indicate potential supernatural or extraterrestrial involvement. Approach with caution."

Precedius processed the information for a moment before activating the lights and siren that were part of his alternate mode and breaking out of the traffic with a hard left turn. A lane change and a right turn a little over a block later left him northbound on 8th Avenue. Seventeen blocks later, he felt his tires lift off the road as he went around Columbus Circle, getting off onto Central Park West. The Museum of Natural History was a third of the way down Central Park from Columbus, which he knew meant he had twenty blocks to go. Just before he reached the intersection of Central Park West and 78th Street, Precedius disengaged the lights and sirens and engaged his transformation systems. In fact, there were innumerable small shifts and changes, but to anyone watching it happened so fast that all they would see would be the rear end of his car form lift off the ground and fold over his hood, backflipping through the air as the sides of the car unfolded into arms, then a spin as he landed and his former rear end seperated into legs, a ballet of twisting metal that resulted in twenty feet of white and red robot standing in front of the police cordon, his allegiance proudly marked by the emblems on his shoulders. A few civilians saw only purple insignia and panicked; but fortunately, the officer-in-charge of the scene took the time to notice the differences in design and kept the situation under control as he walked towards the cordon line until he was standing face-to-knee with the Transformer and looked up.

"You're one of those Martian robots, aren't ya?"

Precedius nodded, mentally reminding himself to speak using modern 'American English' and not the 'Cybertron Standard' that was so similar to what humans called 'Ancient Latin', "What seems to be the problem, Sergeant?"

The sergeant shook his head, "You're not going to believe this..."

The incongruity of a human telling a large shape-changing alien robot that looked like a movie character that they wouldn't believe something caused Precedius to raise an optic ridge.

The sergeant kept talking, "...some kind of midget stole a book from one of the exhibits and half the museum's come to life."

Precedius reached into subspace and drew out his Proton Rifle, "...I'll handle it."

"Uh... Yeah, okay, you do that, have fun" the sergeant shrugged as he gestured to his officers, "Let 'im through!"

Precedius looked amusedly at one officer who had started to lift the barrier tape at the sergeant's order before remembering that the robot could easily step over it.

"My appreciation," Precedius informed him, "But I don't think that will be necessary."

"Right," the officer said as he released the tape, "Uh, good luck?"

"I believe that is the traditional human saying in such situations," Precedius agreed before stepping over the tape and walking towards the building. As he stooped through the main doors of the museum, he heard the sergeant behind him telling one of the officers to 'cancel S.W.A.T., the situation's handled' and could only hope that the human was right and not being premature. At the very least, Stormmaster was going to overload his coolant circulators regarding the fact that Precedius hadn't bothered to call for support.

As he entered the main hall, Precedius rapidly catalogued the information he was receiving from his various sensors about the target; four feet in height, cybernetically-enhanced - easily noticable from the silver metal plate and yellow optical replacement that made up a quarter of its head, some form of red and purple armor - armor definately non-human in origin, no external weapons evident, energy readings peaking highly, most noticable factor was the book in its hands - likely taken from the shattered display case behind it.

"Good afternoon," Precedius began calmly, "As a representative of the city, county and state of New York, I am hereby authorised to inform you that you are in violation of multiple laws and ordinances and to request that you surrender yourself to the proper authorities."

The cyborg snarled, "I do not recognise the authority of you, nor of those fools outside. Unlimited power and they would lock it away in a display case like a common manuscript..."

"That book is the property of the Museum," Precedius tried again to talk the situation out.

"It belongs to me."

"Put the book back in the display case and your hands atop your head," Precedius ordered firmly, heating up his Proton Rifle in case the situation escalated, "Return any and all exhibits you may have altered to their previous states and slowly proceed outside."

"I think not," the cyborg responded, twitching his free hand.

Summoned as though a puppet, a Tyrannosaurus skeleton charged in from a side hall, and turned sharply, slamming its tail into Precedius' back, cracking one of his rack-mounted sensors and knocking him forwards. As it continued its turn, opening its jaws and bringing its head around and moving in to bite the Transformer, Precedius spun around and hit it in the head with the side of his Proton Rifle, knocking it away before it could land the attack.

"You have the right to remain extinct," Precedius informed the reanimated skeleton before twisting and leveling his Proton Rifle to fire a proton stream through the skull from point-blank range, shattering the skull and causing the skeleton to collapse into a pile of bones, the pieces of the skull still smouldering as they hit the floor.

Noticing that his primary target had vanished in the distraction caused by the skeleton, Precedius looked around, "Now, where'd the little crackerjack go?"

With a thought-impulse, Precedius' visor dropped down over his optics and he slowly swept his optics and sensors around the main hall, taking in the different forms of energy that covered the room, including the electrical wiring in the building itself, all made visible through his visor. The bones of the dinosaur that had attacked him and the place where the cyborg was standing when Precedius had entered had strong traces of energy despite the dissipation effect, with a stronger trail leading away from the latter location that a blink-click command to his visor outlined and enhanced its resolution. Shifting his Proton Rifle to a ready position, Precedius slowly began following the trail deeper into the museum.

"I should have called for support," he muttered softly as he walked forward, carefully sweeping the floor in front of him with secondary sensors before he put his foot down each step, "Stonewall, if no one else; he's a historian, this is his type of place..."

Precedius blinked to reset his filters with no change to what they were reading and moved to take a closer look at one of the display cases lining the wall, "...and that mask is glowing... No, it's just putting out large amounts of energy detectable by my sensor rack. I'll have to make a more in-depth examination at a later date..."

A shrieking sound drew Precedius' attention, leading him to drop to a knee and bring his Proton Rifle up as it grew closer before a swarm of flying skulls, glowing with energy, passed over him and flew into the main hall.

"I'd hate to be on the repair crew after this," Precedius muttered as he stood up and started walking, "I'll need to remember for us to donate an appropriate sum to the museum... and maybe some of the things we've acquired over the years as well, if the Commander agrees..."

Another fifty feet onward, the corridor ended in another hall of exhibits, more corridors branching off along the sides with banners displaying what was to be seen if one followed them - something that couldn't be done at the moment with the security gates being closed. The hall itself was split down the middle, a comparison between the Aztec and Egyptian paramid builders with each culture taking up a side; in the middle of the hall was a grand centerpiece, a split paramid, Aztec step on one side and Egyptian slope on the other and standing on top of the Aztec side with the stolen grimore in one hand and the other pressed against the flattened back of the Egyptian side was Precedius' target.

"You again?" The cyborg's voice echoed in the hall, "Have you learned nothing, robot?"

"I'm no robot," Precedius retorted, bringing his Proton Rifle to bear, "I'm a Transformer."

"A _minor _distinction," The cyborg remarked dismissively.

"This is your final warning; put the book down and turn yourself in or appropriate force will be used to ensure compliance, up to and including the authorisation of lethal measures," Precedius issued his third warning as he slowly walked forward into the hall.

"Lethal for whom?" The cyborg asked with a sneer as the book began to glow and beams of energy shot out from it, striking the banners along the walls.

As the beams touched the banners, they began to glow and pull away from the walls, floating to the center of the room where they began to braid together into one long form. When one end of the form folded and tore to form a serpentine head, Precedius reacted, firing off a short blast from his Proton Rifle. The first shot left only scorching to indicate the point of impact with a rapid trio of follow-up shots having similar negligible effect. Roaring its defiance, the banner-serpent began swimming through the air towards the Decepticon combatant.

"This is getting ridiculous," Precedius grumbled, increasing the output of his Proton Rifle and setting it to secondary fire and pulled the trigger, firing three boson darts in rapid succession and causing the banner-serpent to burst into flame.

"Bah, I suppose one should never expect a lesser construct to do a proper job," The cyborg cursed as he held up the grimore and pages began turning freely before settling when he could read the words inscribed on the page, "Speculum, metallum, lapidem et magis; forma me potens... transector."

The grimore began to glow, then, first beams of energy began to shoot off in multiple directions before the glow began to travel down the cyborg's arm to its body and then down its other limbs to the split paramid that it began to envelope.

As the cyborg's spell began pulling in metal and glass, among other materials, from the display cases and other objects around the room, the paramid itself began to twist and warp as it merged with the incoming materials, forming a giant body with a cavity in the chest where its creator stood, an insectoid-faced parody of a Transformer, a golem under the cyborg's control that began charging towards the actual Transformer.

"Oh, sludge," Precedius muttered just before a backhand fist strike knocked his Proton Rifle away to the side, clearing the way for an uppercut to hit him right in the grill and send him tumbling backwards to land on his rack, damaging more of the equipment there.

'That's more time in Repairs,' the Transformer thought in annoyance, 'Does this lilliputian have any idea how problematic replacing custom parts is?'

Carefully moving his right hand out and away, hoping that his opponent wouldn't see the move, Precedius activated his hold-out weapon, hand retracting into his forearm while an energised axe emerged to replace it. As the cyborg brought his transector's foot down in a stomp attempt, Precedius struck, twisting his body and bringing his axe up to sever the leg from the knee down and roll away in a single fluid motion.

As Precedius came up to a knee, he watched as tendrils of energy reached out from the cyborg's transector to the severed leg and pulled it back to the knee, then the two halves of the limb glowed as they merged together again. Switching back out his axe for his hand, Precedius lunged sideways to retrieve his Proton Rifle, bringing up and steady, he fired off another another series of three boson darts. Venting the thermal build-up from his weapons, the Decepticon watched as the smoke from the impacts cleared to reveal the damage done to his opponent; the first shot had left a scorchmark on the right hip, the next two had grouped together to punch through the opposite shoulder and leave an open hole in the Transector. The look of triumph that had started to appear on Precedius' face, however, began to fade as the ragged edges of the hole began to glow and grow back together, sealing it again before his optics. This time, however he was in a position to notice something that he hadn't been able to see when the leg had regenerated.

'The book!' Precedius thought, 'Every time that thing repairs itself, the glow as it does is the same as the glow on the book... If I want to beat this scraggin' spawn of a scraplet, I'll have to do something about that book first.'

With his free hand, reached up and grasped a ring towards the end of his Proton Rifle's barrel, twisting it, this tightened the beam width and reduced drift from the target area; then he moved down the rifle and turned a recessed dial on the outside, activating the weapon's emergency fermion absorber, a component that would filter excess heat back into the firing chamber allowing him to supercharge shots at the costs of increasing the risks of the weapon overheating and exploding at the worst and reducing its functional lifespan at the best. 'Hotshotting' weapons in this manner was discouraged due to the potential damage to both weapon and user, as well as the surrounding area, but when the situation called for it, it was possible. Right then, Precedius felt the situation called for it, he might only have one shot before his opponent realised where he was aiming and took measures to protect the book, so he had to make sure the shot not only hit the book without fail, but did as much damage as possible when it did.

'One shot, make it count,' Precedius thought as he brought his Proton Rifle to the ready again and the transector raised its hands into the air, hands glowing with energy that was flowing between them and gathering in a ball over its head.

As the transector started to bring the energy ball down into a firing position and released it, Precedius took his shot. For a moment, it seemed as though the world had frozen as both shots flew true at their targets...

Then the two energies met, held each other from advancing on their respective courses, sparks flew from the competing energies as each tried to overcome the other, then...

The proton stream punched through the arcane energy, disappating it as it continued on its path. It hit the book, piercing through the ancient tome and incinerating it before it went on to penetrate the cyborg's own armor and the transector behind it. As the book burned, the energy it held was released and the cyborg screamed in pain as the book's arcane energy conflicted with his own implanted technologies before he passed out. With neither book to power it or cyborg to control it, the transector fell apart, leaving the cyborg on the floor, surrounded by twisted and broken metal and glass...

* * *

><p>As Precedius stepped out of the museum with his cargo, he was greeted by cheers from civilians, media and law enforcement and emergency services personnel alike.<p>

"I'm afraid the grimore won't be making it back into the exhibit," Precedius held up the unconscious form in his hand, "But I've got you a nice consolation prize, officers... but he might not be up to talking for a bit, he had a... shocking experience."

With a nod, the sergeant pointed at the limp cyborg, "Rivera, Keith, take 'im."

The two officers stepped forward and took the prisoner as Precedius released him and with the assistance of paramedics carefully loaded him onto a stretcher for transport to the secure wing of the nearest hospital.

Precedius looked around, "Will there be anything else I could assist you with this afternoon, Sergeant?"

"Uh," the sergeant shook his head, "I'm gonna have to fill out a report on all this, you know? You got a name - for the record and all?"

"Prece-" Precedius paused and looked around at the civilians cheering and waving signs with the symbol from the movie - how they acquired them so quickly and from where he didn't know - and changed his mind mid-sentence, "Just... call me Ecto-1."

* * *

><p>Author's Note; Crickey, this was just supposed to be a nice little drabble like the others and it just kept growing and growing until it's almost a story in itself, not just a short... I actually pulled up a map of NYC to check the directions from Broadway and 42nd to the AMNH at Central Park West and 79nd, but knowing as I do that maps don't always tell the whole story, I therefore apologise to any New York natives for any possible inaccuracies relating to that or to the layout of the Museum itself - in example, I'm fairly certain that there's not been an exhibit comparing the two primary paramid building societies in history, thus its presence is most likely entirely fictional.<p>

Thanks for help on the battle scene towards the end goes to the various musicians and shows that provided inspiration while I worked.

And yes, the 'insectoid-faced parody of a Transformer' line is a jab at some of the 'alien-looking simply for the sake of being alien-looking' character designs from the live-action movies and related toys. Don't be mistaken, I enjoy many of the designs with all the gizmos and doo-dads visable, but some of the heads just make me cringe looking at them... Examples; Icepick with the full-face mask looking head, good; Barricade with the Ivan Ooze-looking head, bad; Autobot Alliance Sideswipe with the simple head and fold down nose and mouth-guard, good; Ratchet with those weird cheek-pieces, bad...


	4. Last Blow : Overload

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Last Blow'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>Decepticon base, Valles Marineris<br>Planet Mars, Sol system  
>A.D. 1990, human Gregorian Calendar.<p>

As Overload stood there, he considered the possibility that his cognitive functions were breaking down, that essentially he had to be losing his mind. He knew that there were some Autobots who would consider him a traitor for what he was about to do, alliances and treaties aside. To him, though, the crux of the matter was the simple question of whether or not he was really an Autobot to begin with.

"Long ago when all were one, there were the Twelve and the One. The One was banished and the Twelve divided; four took to arms to defend the work of their creator; four took to work to repair the body of their creator; and four took to study to follow the path of their creator... This was the first division of the Cybertronian race," Stonewall, a historian by nature if saboteur by training, recited, "The scholar-priests learned and taught, the workers built and the warriors protected, before the Occupation, before the Rebellion, before the Golden Age, in the time when all were one."

After the Great War had begun, caste lines had broken down; warrior, worker and scholar faded into simply Autobot against Decepticon with neutrals trapped in the middle. But as the very existance of Valles Marineris proved, not all Decepticons sought conquest and one only had to meet some of them to know that not all Autobots wanted peace. Overload knew this well; he was one of them. He enjoyed fighting, enjoyed the feelings it invoked.

"As time corrodes metal and acids corrodes circuits," Athena, once an artist and dancer, picked up, "Pride corrodes the nobility of thought and deed. The scholar-priests began to believe they alone had the right to lead, for did they not interpret the will of Primus? The workers began to believe they alone had the right to lead, for did they not restore Primus' body and build the world where his children lived? The warriors began to believe they alone had the right to lead, for did they not protect Primus' body and all his children? And so to prevent that which Primus forged being put asunder, the High Council was formed in the image of the Twelve; four from those who built and restored, four from those who studied and taught and four from those who trained and fought."

That was why when it had been decided that official liasons needed to be appointed between the Autobots and the Decepticons of Mars, he had volunteered for the position, despite being only newly assigned to Earth from the Resistance on Cybertron. He wanted to know what made these Decepticons different than the ones that he had been fighting against for so long. What he discovered was that, despite the time you'd spend in a repair bay if some of them heard the comparison, they were basically Autobots without pretences. No talk about 'when this diode-blowing war is over'; no claims about being miners, dockworkers, merchants or scholars forced into a conflict. They were what they were.

"And so for a time the Golden Age. Those who worked created ever greater examples of their craft. Those who studied thought things that had never been thought before. Those who guarded turned their skill to sport," former Iacon Security Force officer Longarm continued, "But the One had shown that even one created by Primus' own hand could be corrupted and the High Council were the creations of those who came after. As their power grew, so did their desire for more power. As their power brought them wealth, so did they grow to desire more wealth. As their wealth brought them power, so did the darkness grow within them... Greed led to fraud, taxing more to take that which wasn't needed for themselves. Fraud led to treachery, using innocents to achieve their goals and then presenting them as the true criminals. Treachery led to violence, enforcing their will by blade and bolt in the shadows..."

Maybe this was what Ultra Magnus and the rest were afraid of when they claimed his attempts to 'know his enemy' were dangerous. They were afraid that he'd discover the truth about the differences between Autobot and Decepticon - there were none, the factions were the same, only the leaders themselves were different. Autobots were Decepticons and Decepticons were Autobots, only the insignia changed. Perhaps most importantly, Overload had discovered that he might wear the Autobot insignia, follow the orders of Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus and the rest, but at his core he was a Decepticon. There were no differences between him and the Transformers he was assigned to work with.

"And violence to heresy and tyranny; presenting themselves as the honorable leaders of Cybertron, the representatives of the people and followers of Primus when they followed only themselves and represented only their own interests," Stormmaster, who had risen to the public optic as a gladiator while fighting a different form of combat where the public couldn't see, took up the tale, "But truth can only be suppressed, not destroyed, and the number of those that knew the truth began to grow and gather in secret, across all city-states, all classes, all castes..."

At first, he could feel the resentment, the underlaying belief of the Decepticons of Mars that he was merely an Autobot spy or worse, a saboteur-in-waiting. The unspoken statement that he wasn't one of them. His combat experience - especially considering it was against Decepticon Battlefleet forces - was something they respected and it earned him the benefit of doubt, but he remained an outsider. Within a month, that had changed on the planet Sydneya after he had entered combat alongside them to stop the Battlefleet from capturing the vital communications relay station there. Afterwards, as far as Mars was concerned, he was now one of them; lent to, borrowed from, chewed out, called out, included in conversations and free to voice his opinions and have them shot down just as freely.

"Workers," Longarm announced.

It had been his occasional complaints about size and design that had given Bodge-Job the idea. Resources weren't a concern since the Decepticons of Mars had run of the whole planet, design was simple since there were certain things that he was fond of in his original design and so it was a simple case of eliminate the negative and accentuate the positive, and so to celebrate the end of his first year as liason, Bodge-Job and the rest of the Decepticons had unveiled their creation; a new, standard-sized bodyshell for him. The colors were the same and the helmet hadn't changed, but instead of being a cab-over tractor in its alternate mode, it was a long-nose with a towing-assembly.

"Scholars," Stonewall seconded.

And with the bodyshell came the invitation, noncontingent, the bodyshell was his either way. The invitation, though, was proof that Mars saw him as one of their own, felt it to the point of being willing to make it official, not fearing what the Autobot reaction might be. Accepting was easy, it was actually going through with it that had Overload doubting himself.

"Warriors," Stormmaster kept going, "All bound together by a sacred oath, that they would not trade slavery to alien masters for slavery to masters from their own numbers. While each would continue to bear the mark of their caste, they collectively took on a new name, a new configuration, in admission that each of them had been misled and to remind themselves of their cause they became Decepticons, literally 'The Misled.' The children of Primus that had divided themselves were again one and together they were strong. Strong enough to fight back against the violence. Strong enough to stand against the corruption. Strong enough to drag the lies into the light in which no falsehood can survive. But strength is more than physical and a strong bodyshell can conceal a weaker mind... and while strong of will, my brother-in-battle was only a creation of those who came after. He saw the corruption in others but not that in his own core. He saw the failures of the many and began to believe that one alone should lead and why not him, did he not lead the fight against the corruptions of the High Council? And those that agreed with him forsook their oath and swore themselves to 'peace through tyranny', but for every one that followed another denied, holding true to their oath and so again the children of Primus were divided. Those that were blinded by the High Council's luster saw only Decepticons and did not listen. Those that followed Megatron's new course saw only traitors and did not care... and those that stood against both found themselves beset on all sides. With nowhere on Cybertron safe, there was but one choice for them to have a chance to marshal their forces and so they set out into the sea of stars, many groups going each their own way under leaders they trusted, to await the day to come when they would take back their home..."

Less than a local day after coming back online from the bodyshell transfer, Overload was now standing in the middle of the main ampitheatre in the Martian base of Valles Marineris. Normally used for honor duels or large-scale briefings, today it was the site of his last day as an Autobot. Standing in the middle of the floor, Overload swept the reception from his optic sensors from left to right, taking in the Transformers standing around him; to his left were Athena and Stonewall; opposite them to his right were Longarm and Bodge-Job, whose speaking part in the proceedings was soon to come; Stormmaster stood in front of him with a low bench - if one could call something that stood almost as tall as a human being 'low' - between them that would come into play shortly; and in the stands surrounding them, Decepticons of all discriptions stood watching and waiting.

"You stand among them, Overload of Cybertron," Stormmaster intoned as he moved from history to ceremony, "If you would now stand with us, then kneel."

After this, Overload knew, there would be no going back. When he had volunteered for the liason assignment, there had been those that considered it suspicious. After this, they'd consider their suspicions confirmed, in their optics he would be a traitor to the Autobots, to Cybertron, even to freedom.

'But not to myself," Overload thought as he took two steps forward, 'Never a traitor to myself.'

Then he knelt, placing his knees on the bench.

Stormmaster looked around, "Who shall sponsor this Transformer?"

Bodge-Job took a step forward, and turned to face his commander, "I shall stand for him."

"What right does he have to be counted in our number?"

"He has sacrificed his place among others to stand against tyranny, as have we all," Bodge-Job answered, remembering the time after leaving Triplex Alpha so long ago that he had been the one in Overload's position.

Stormmaster nodded, "Overload of Cybertron, do you swear to defend the homeworld and all colonies against all enemies, foreign or domestic?"

From his kneeling position, Overload nodded and spoke, "I so swear."

"Do you swear to stand with those gathered here and all who bear our mark in times of need, whether in war or peace?"

Overload nodded again, "I so swear."

"Do you swear eternal hostility against all forms of tyranny over sentience, no matter the risk to self or property?"

For a third time, he nodded, "I so swear."

Stormmaster half-twisted his torso as he raised his hand into the air, holding it there for a moment before he brought his fist down and struck Overload across the face with the back of it. Overload slowly turned his head back and reset his optics to ensure there were no problems with the data feed after the impact.

"You are now one of us, Overload of the Decepticons. Let that be the last blow you recieve that goes unanswered."

The dent to his battlemask would put Overload back under Bodge-Job's care for a local hour or so, but the roar of approval from the stands was adequate compensation for that.

The ceremony complete, Stormmaster turned to leave the ampitheatre - even if he trusted every Decepticon in the room with his life, he had never cared much for large groups.

"Commander."

Stormmaster would never know if it was simply the fact that he was being addressed or more the fact that Overload was using a term of address that was mainly used by the Decepticons under his command that drew more of his attention. That would be because they were quickly overshadowed by the powerful right hook that managed to stagger him when it caught him in the battlemask.

Overload clenched and unclenched his fist, "Who said I would let that blow go unanswered?"

Behind his battlemask, Stormmaster smiled as he slowly nodded while the crowd of Decepticons in the stands began to applaud.


	5. Werewolf : Nightwolf

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

Author's Note: Nightwolf's design is a repaint of Pretender Beast Carnivac.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Werewolf'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>Eastern Europe,<br>planet Earth, Sol system  
>circa 1100 B.C., human Gregorian calendar.<p>

Loup Garou. Wulfen. Vukodlak. Oboroten.

...Werewolf.

All words used for a being that changes between wolf and man, or at least the shapes of wolf and man. Ignorance, they say, is bliss. If true that be, then far be it from one such as I to ruin it for the poor humans who take such superstitions so seriously. I just wonder how many of those legends began when the first person to tell the tale to their friends and neighbors saw simply a Transformer doing what comes naturally to us... like me.

In the tongues of men, I am called 'Nightwolf', it is close enough. I am a tracker, a hunter, predator...

And he is my prey. He and his brothers have preyed on the world of men for a thousand times four of its years, for almost five hundred years of Mars I have hunted them; alone, with my brethern, with those that hunted them to the world-Earth, I have hunted. Soon, for good or ill, my hunt comes to an end; beneath the water-sea is trapped one of his fellows, another lies entombed in the desert of the lines and before morning comes either Blood will join them or Nightwolf shall fall. It will be a remembered fight, a tale worthy of telling, whomever wins. No more can be asked.

No more should be asked.

I am no longer like my brethern, I have forsaken them, I have adopted the ways of the other hunters, corrupted the ways of the other hunters, I have followed in the path of my prey. Like them all, I have taken on the nano-machine shell that permits almost-perfect imitation of an organic being. I am a Pretender. But I am not an Autobot who walks among humans or a Battlefleet Decepticon whose outer shell reveals the true monster within. I am a Decepticon. I am of The Decieved, the true Decepticons, those who remember what others have forgotten. I will not let their legacy be our own. I will hunt, I will find...

I am a hunter, a tracker, a predator...

I am a wolf.

I am Nightwolf. It is enough.


	6. Boat Baiting : Sinker

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Boat Baiting'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>Decepticon Battlefleet Base, Pacific Ocean,<br>planet Earth, Sol system  
>A.D. 2006, human Gregorian calendar<p>

A white and blue Minibot wearing the insignia of the Decepticons of Mars shrugged, "So I says to the guy, 'Look, buddy, you may think you're some modern-day Blackbeard, but I'm no English merchantman'."

"So what did he do?" Autobot Minibot Seaspray gargled.

Sinker shrugged again, "Whatta ya think? He snarked off about parlour tricks and intercoms and demanded I show myself."

A smaller boat-former wearing an Autobrand waved his hand, "Wait, wait, I know where this is going... you did, didn't you?"

"Yeah, and let me tell you - it's a good thing he ended up in the water when I transformed because otherwise he would have had to come up with an excuse for needing a change of clothes," Sinker answered.

"Red shirt and brown pants?" Seawatch asked.

"Only not quite so noble," Sinker informed him

The collection of ocean-going Transformers laughed.

"Oh, pirates," the Micron shook his head, "Always good for a laugh. So, what do you think's gonna get done with all this stuff, anyways?"

"Considering it's almost a quartro-vorn old... not that that's really old, but it hasn't been even been occupied for over a quarter of that... well, I never liked Polyhexian asthetics anyway, too heavy on the purple and spikes," Sinker looked around, "I'll be fine if it'll all just end up melted down and cast into commemorative coins."

"To 'mark the end of the Cybertronian Wars'?" Seawatch asked.

"I doubt it," Sinker disagreed, kicking a loose maintenance access panel across the room.

Seawatch was curious what the other Transformer meant, "That being the end result?"

"This being the end," Sinker corrected sardonically, "Even if Megatron is dead, Galvatron is missing, Starscream's been executed and Shockwave is currently a pamcake on Cybertron... Soundwave and Onslaught are still active and enough Battlefleet Decepticons escaped to provide them with decent manpower levels. The current war might be over in its full-scale form, but mopping-up actions are still going to take centi-vorns, if not deci-vorns - and that's not considering the possibility of another conflict beginning that in some way involves us."

"Has anyone ever told you that you really know how to kill a moment?" Seaspray commented.

"I've seen more ships sunk by complacency than anything else," Sinker retorted, "Complacency and arrogance. I've learnt better."

"I think you're over-estimating," Seawatch noted.

"Really?" Sinker looked at the Micron, "_Titanic_, claimed unsinkable - arrogance, with the added complacency of not having enough proper equipment for all crew and passengers when it did sink because of that arrogance. _Bismarck_, the entire German Navy believed it alone was a match for any other ship on the seas or under them... and if it had been alone, it might have been, but it ended up facing three task forces of British and allied vessels and was sank. I could go on, you know, do you know how many wrecks litter the bottom of the oceans? Thousands, hundreds of thousands, from as far back as humankind first discovered that wood could float and that they could use it to travel on water."

"Smokescreen would probably have something to say about a Transformer with a boat alternate mode being so obsessed with shipwrecks," Seaspray remarked.

"As a human once said, 'sometimes a cigar is just a cigar'... That also works for cigarette boats, I'm sure," Sinker shot back.

"You're a hovercraft," Seawatch took the liberty of point out.

"And you're a hydrofoil, Moray-boy," Sinker reminded him, "Ain't that a kick in the water-jets?"

"Enough," the largest member of the detachment, Mars Decepticon Arizona spoke up, "We have work to do and because of the situation we're limited on relief, so we don't need to be pushing each other this far this early."

"Ships may be meant for blue water, Arizona," Sinker remarked, "But you're not wet-hulled, you're just a wet blanket."

"Wet blanket enough to leave you feet-dry for a centi-vorn," Arizona informed him, "Don't push your luck."

Sinker turned and started to walk away from the group, out of the former bridge and command center of the downed spacecraft, then stopped and commented, "When you find a better expert at underwater demolitions and salvage, then you can tell me not to push my luck... until then, just remember who assigned me to this and why."

Then he left.


	7. Shades of Tonnehex : Steamhook

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers which is copyright Hasbro, or Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said game. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the game for fun.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Shades of Tonnehex'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>Every building has its foundation, every life has its defining moment. His was at Tonnehex. It was after the Taking of Darkmount, after Megastorm had declared himself Megatron and announced his new vision for the Decepticons, for all of Cybertron and its colonies, for the universe itself...<p>

Peace through tyranny.

It was at Tonnehex that Steamhook of the Decepticons discovered what that meant. The mission had been simple; achieve the minor town within the borders of Kalis-controlled territory, eliminate the garrison of troops loyal to the High Council and provide a foothold for subsequent forces to begin breaching a corridor towards the Kalis city-state itself.

Then came the added objective that changed everything; eliminate any occupants of the town who refused to swear to the Decepticon cause.

Some orders, Steamhook decided, were not meant to be followed. Therefore, he willfully and knowingly failed to inform the troops under his command of the order. Unfortunately for the engineer-turned-Decepticon warrior, his well-intended omission failed. As soon as the battle had ended, Steamhook was relieved of his command and taken into custody by the newly formed Decepticon Public Safety Unit, the so-called 'Cobalt Sentries', and the orders he had refused to pass on were enacted anyway.

Charged and tried in the field of failure to obey orders and, just to tighten the screws, cowardice in the face of the enemy, Steamhook was convicted and sentenced by the Cobalt Sentries, sentenced to Kaon Prison Complex where he would remain until such time as was deemed appropriate by the Public Safety Unit or he was resentenced by a Commander-level officer in the Decepticon Battlefleet...

* * *

><p>Kaon Prison Complex,<br>Decepticon-held territory, Cybertron  
>circa-nine million B.C., human Gregorian calendar<p>

Steamhook sat in his cell, optics shuttered and replaying the time from recieving the purge order to his arrival at Kaon over and over again in his mind, but it didn't matter; each time he reached the same conclusion, he would not have, could not have followed those orders and unwilling to follow them he could not have given those same orders to his subordinates. No matter what happened in the end, orders like those were not the reason that he had joined the Decepticons. He was brought out of his remembrances by the sudden end of the buzzing sound of the energy field that sealed him into his cell.

The engineer's optics opened to where he saw three Transfomers standing in the corridor outside his cell; two of these were nondescript grey truckformers of the standard body-type for Kaon prison guards, but the third had two distinct traits. The third Transformer was much smaller, almost a quarter of the size of the larger two, with an appearant data-cartridge alternate mode and was blue, a very distinct cobalt blue.

A Cobalt Sentry.

"You're blue," Steamhook remarked offhandly by way of greeting.

"And you are orange," the Cobalt Sentry countered sharply, holding up a hand to forestall physical sanction by the two bulk guards.

"Well," the engineer noted, "At least we understand each other."

"_I _do not understand _you_," the Cobalt Sentry countered, "You had the chance to be a part of something great and turned your back on it... and for what? What did Kalis ever do for you?"

"Kalis did nothing for me," Steamhook answered, "Kalis also did nothing _to _me, and neither did they. 'A part of something great', you said? It being 'great' doesn't mean it's right."

"Is it any more 'right' to support the High Council's excesses?"

"The civilians that were killed probably didn't even know about the High Council's activities," Steamhook shot back, "Much less supported them."

"Someone who does nothing to change the situation has, by their inaction, given their support to the status quo," the Cobalt Sentry replied.

"Very black and white of you considering that paint-job, Blue," Steamhook scoffed.

"You may refer to me as Lieutenant Wolftone of the Decepticon Public Safety Unit," the Cobalt Sentry informed him.

"I think I'd rather refer to you as Tiny Thing Fluttershy of the beastformer petting zoo," Steamhook smirked, fully expecting what was coming when Wolftone nodded and one of the guards stepped forward and struck the engineer. Steamhook wiped a trace of leaking energon away from his faceplate and noted, "They say violence is the recourse of the simple-minded."

The guard drew back his fist to hit Steamhook again, but was stopped by a shake of the head from the Cobalt Sentry.

"I would enjoy being permitted to finish our... conversation," Wolftone announced, "But unfortunately, the Public Safety Unit's claim on you has been overridden."

"I'm sure you're spark-broken over it," Steamhook retorted.

Wolftone took a step forward before clenching his fist, "You should feel fortunate that you are required to arrive at your destination intact and completely operational, _Prisoner_ Steamhook. Guards, bring him."

The other truckformer stepped forward and the two guards took Steamhook by the arms, lifting him up so that he could do little but shuffle his feet along as they marched him out of the cell and down the corridor.

* * *

><p>Decepticon Field Command<br>Praxus front.

The Ground Commander of the Decepticon Battlefleet looked at Steamhook over the plate of duranium laid across two empty barrels that served as his desk in the field, "You're expecting to be assigned the 'glory' of sacrificing yourself for the 'Decepticon Cause' or the lowest forms of drone-work I can find."

Steamhook stared straight ahead, not letting it show on his face that that was exactly what he was expecting, "I serve the Decepticon Battlefleet, Ground Commander, and through it all Cybertron."

"Good answer, exactly what I'd expect from someone in your position..." Stormmaster leant forward, placing his elbows on his knees and knitting his fingers together, "I think I'll have to shoot you for that alone."

The other Decepticon shuttered his optics, he hadn't been expecting a full-fledged execution, not after orders of his reassignment had arrived at Kaon.

"Open... your optics," Stormmaster ordered and Steamhook complied, "I'm not going to kill you, not after all the trouble I went through to get you here."

Steamhook was puzzled, "The trouble you went through, Ground Commander?"

"It took a great deal of manipulation to convince Megatron that I could re-educate you... and I hated every minute of it."

"I beg your pardon, Ground Commander, but I was led to believe that you and the Supreme Commander were... friends, I suppose."

"Closer than that," Stormmaster admitted, standing up and turning to face the campaign map hanging on the wall of the room, "We were gladiators once, partners... but now..."

The Ground Commander clasped his hands behind his back, just below his weapons system, as he cycled his air-intakes, "Now, I know him not. Despite what you've been accused of, Engineer Steamhook, you did the right thing."

"Sir?"

Stormmaster turned and leveled an appraising look at the other mech, "Some orders are not meant to be followed and neither, it seems, are some leaders..."

He turned back to the map and continued speaking, not to the room's other occupant, but to himself, "'Better to betray a government than to betray ourselves', that's what I said back then, wasn't it? How much better, then, to betray a friend?"


	8. Gotcha! : Bumper

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Gotcha'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>Decepticon base, Valles Marineris<br>planet Mars, Sol system

As any smaller configuration would tell you, the larger Transformers never paid attention to the little ones. Was it any wonder, therefore, that minibots and Microns excelled as couriers, spies and saboteurs?

To Bumper, it was no wonder at all.

The competition was universal, the name was not. Among other names, it was called 'Gotcha', 'Assassin', and even 'An Exercise In Widespread Paranoia'; the name and exact form it took depended on the species and culture, but it was an event that could be found in some form on almost every inhabitied planet in the known galaxies. The objective was simple, eliminate ones own target or targets while avoiding being eliminated. A smaller configuration meant a smaller target and the ability to get into places larger Transformers couldn't for purposes of escape and evasion or even setting up an elimination shot.

If Mars could be said to have a planetary sport, it would be 'Assassin'; competitions were known to go on for local years with alliances forming and breaking, levels of paranoia rising and finally one Transformer left standing in the end. Which usually made them a target in the next game. If they were good, they might survive for a while before they were eliminated, but usually they didn't last long. Bumper was the reigning champion for the last hundred Martian years, almost two hundred Earth years. It made it easy to find her targets; they were usually coming for her, which was just the way she liked it.

With aerial alternate modes and flying robots, the upper reaches of Valles Marineris were as busy as ground level ever was, a true Transformer city. An 'Assassin' player had to understand that or else they wouldn't last long, the first ones to be eliminated most games were the ones too busy watching their backs to watch for the threats from above and below. An experienced player learned to have a certain instinct about the world around them, something that told them when there was something out of place that could end their run. Bumper was a scout by function, she came by that instinct naturally and at the moment, it was going crazy.

Acting purely on that instinct, Bumper quickly drew the spare weapon she kept on 'Assassin' setting from her subspace pocket, spinning around as she did so. Nothing looked out of place on the same level of Valles Marineris she was on, which left only two options and not hearing or sensing any form of tunnelling narrowed that down to a single direction. Dropping to a kneeling position, Bumper raised her blaster's barrel to the sky in time to see a helicopter overhead transform to robot mode and begin dropping towards her, a flash of light marking the summoning of their own weapons from subspace as they fell. Bumper fired off two quick shots and immediately rolled to the side, coming back to her knee to see the oncoming opponent jink left, then right to avoid the shots, seconds later, return fire struck where she had been kneeling before. As the other Transformer fell towards the ground, they and Bumper continued to exchange fire, the former jinking around in midair and the latter moving from cover to cover to avoid each other's shots.

"What kind of idiot attacks head-on?" Bumper muttered as she adjusted the settings on her blaster, crouched behind a pile of metal plating that was appearently meant for a nearby building, "I mean, besides the Commander, of course..."

With her back against her cover, Bumper raised her blaster over her shoulder and pulled the trigger, blind-firing the weapon. For most other Transformers, this would have been a foolish move, but like the Commander of another renegade Decepticon faction, Bumper's choice of weapon was the Heat-Seeking Laser Blaster. She wasn't one of Uplink's scientists or Bodge-Job's engineers, Bumper couldn't explain how it worked, all she knew that she needed to know was that it worked when it needed to work. The energy bolt, once fired, twisted and moved, homing in on the source of the greatest amount of heat in the direction it had been fired, which in this case was the opposing 'Assassin' player.

In mid-air, said opposition - an Air Transport Specialist with a Chinook helicoptor for their alternate mode, one Gyrotor by name - saw the oncoming shot and began jinking around as he fell to try and avoid it, only for it to match each move he made.

'I've been painted, it's remote-guided somehow, or...' Gyrotor felt that this was the most likely option, 'Heat-seeker. And if it is a heat-seeker, that means...'

Shutting down as many systems as he could, the next time he jinked, Gyrotor launched a short-life magnesium flare in the opposite direction. For a few seconds, the flare burned at over three thousand degrees celsius before it burned out, but it lasted long enough and burned hot enough to attract the heat-seeking bolt's attention and cause it to miss its target.

The primary flaw in Bumper's Heat-Seeking Laser Blaster was a simple one; in standard mode it could be fired repeatedly with little to no problem, firing it in Heat-Seeker mode required a cool-down period after use because of the unique nature of the energy bolt it fired in that mode.

"Scrap!" Bumper swore to herself, "How many times have we all been told - never carry just one weapon for anything? Plenty. And what do I do? Carry just one weapon on 'Assassin' settings. Brilliant, Bumper, simply brilliant."

Gyrotor flexed his legs to absorb the shock as he landed, his own blaster in hand. He had seen his target's defensive fire from behind the stack of armor plating and began to carefully approach it. A flash of white metal showed his target's location as she darted out from behind the stack of armor plating towards a public access computer terminal, Gyrotor moved as quickly as he could to bring his weapons to bare, but she was out of sight again.

"Like that today, eh?" Gyrotor muttered to himself.

The chin-turret of Gyrotor's Chinook mode, now mounted on his torso after his transformation, rotated, sweeping back and forth from one side of the P.A.C. terminal to other other, ready to react whichever way that Bumper might move. Turret tracking and blaster ready, Gyrotor carefully began to approach the terminal, knowing that his opponent was a clever one and waiting for them to create a distraction that would allow them to escape and so knowing that he had to keep his optics and audios active and balance being able to react quickly with not falling for any distractions.

Moments later, Bumper still hadn't moved from her position and Gyrotor had reached the other side of the terminal, something that made him nervous as he couldn't see the reigning 'Master Assassin of Mars' making such a rookie's mistake.

'No,' Gyrotor thought, 'She is up to something...'

Gyrotor carefully side-stepped his way around the corner of the terminal booth, knowing that he was quite likely walking into a trap, figuring that it was best if he simply sprung it and avoided getting caught as best as he could rather than trying to work around it.

Nothing, there was nothing to the side of the terminal and if anything, it made him more nervous, not less. One didn't last a hundred Martian years as champion by doing nothing. The sound of something landing behind him made Gyrotor start to turn, but as soon as he did, he felt the barrel of a gun being put to his head; Bumper had been on top of the terminal and had used that added height to get behind him.

Bumper smirked and pressed her blaster more firmly against her opponent's temple, "Nice try, Gyrotor."

"You may eliminate me," Gyrotor replied, "But I'm not the only one who has you as a target, Bumper. Others will come."

"I know," Bumper's smirk grew, "Obviously they don't know how to 'Follow Best'."

The white Minibot femme pulled the trigger and Gyrotor's digipanels flashed from the normal Martian green to the red of an eliminated Assassin player.

"One less target on my list," Bumper informed him.

"And several more to add," Gyrotor corrected, handing over the information he had on his own targets as per competition rules.

Bumper chuckled, "That's half the fun of it, gaining new targets."

"What's the other half?" Gyrotor asked.

"Eliminating them," Bumper answered simply, shunting her blaster and the datachip with the new targets on it into subspace.


	9. Supply Run : Resolute

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

Author's Note: Anyone who can tell me the source of Argus' name gets an energon goodie.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Supply Run'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>Rings of Saturn,<br>orbiting planet Saturn, Sol system  
>A.D. 1999, human Gregorian calendar<p>

Ever since the Autobots had established their Moonbases orbiting Cybertron, resupply had been a concern as the planet itself was essentially under the complete control of Megatron's forces, the Space Bridge was locked down and was linked directly to Darkmount in any case, and perhaps most importantly; Megatron himself was no fool, nor were his lieutenants. The warp gate that made space travel between Cybertron and the Sol system possible was on the outer edge of the system and to get there from Earth, supplies had to travel through the asteroid belt and the outer planets whose moons and rings made excellent ambush sites. Despite the majority of the Decepticon Battlefleet being stationed on Cybertron itself, flights of Seekers or Decepticons with spacecraft alternate modes being assigned to these ambush zones was an all too common occurance.

And if the Dominator-class cruiser currently unleashing a broadside from his port batteries were to say anything about it, he'd likely say that he'd take great pleasure in the day when he no longer had to ensure convoy safety and could simply hunt down the Battlefleet forces and blast them out of what he privately referred to as 'his' sky.

"Seeker inbound, bearing fifty-six, thirty degrees down," the voice of the nearby Firestorm-class frigate broke in over the communications channel, "Who calls?"

"Resolute calls," the Dominator answered back, "Stick with the convoy, Argus."

"Roger that," Argus replied, "Good hunting."

"With these for targets?" Resolute tight-beamed back as he rolled to starboard to bring his broadside batteries to bear, "We could leave the shells floating in space and some of them would fly right into them."

"Yeah," the smaller ship replied on the tight-beam, "And then the humans would probably claim we were littering their system."

"Unlike the Commander, they don't impress me that much," Resolute admitted as he twisted, turned and accellerated towards the still oncoming seeker, "They themselves have done nothing to repel the Battlefleet - it's their planet, but they're content to let the Autobots do all the fighting."

"Different levels of advancement."

If he had been in robot mode, Resolute would've had a visible reaction of annoyance at that reply, "A missile's a missile, 'Gus. As long as it's explosive, it doesn't matter what kind of payload it's carrying, you get hit with enough of them you're gonna be spending time in repairs minimum. Personal experience... magnetic containment field up, charging main gun..."

"Target area is clear of allies," Argus confirmed from above and behind.

"Firing main gun..." The magnetically contained ball of plasma flew from the long barrel mounted under the forward prow of Resolute's cruiser mode.

"Target well hit," Argus confirmed as he saw the jet-mode seeker lose part of its thruster assembly and right wing and begin to drift, dead in space, "Stasis lock confirmed."

"Escort, this is transport _Agartha_," a voice broke in over both Transformers' radios, "I have enemies in my rear arc, request immediate assistance."

"Argus responding," the frigate answered, coming to a new heading that would bring him in line with the transport towards the rear of the convoy, his smaller size and greater manuverability allowing him to come about faster than Resolute.

"Raker... well, this is a good hunt, isn't it?" Argus commented to himself as he saw the space shuttle Battlefleet Micron attacking the _Agartha_, "I still owe him a few from that fracas over Phobos..."

"Resolute, Argus," the Dominator-cruiser communicated over a tactical channel, "I'm coming about and inbound, keep them busy until I can line up for an attack run."

"Argus, Resolute," the frigate replied, "I make no promises about them surviving that long. Lance battery charging... firing."

The principle behind a laser Lance battery was a simple one; multiple laser emitters were arranged so that all of their laser beams became one focused beam, this reduced the chance of emitter burn-out and made it an ideal weapon for piercing energy shields. The Lance beam that Argus fired didn't need to penetrate a shield, it struck Raker in a direct hit to the nosecone and began to burn its way through the ceramic tiles of the Battlefleet Micron's heatshield.

Raker screamed in pain and transformed, using the momentum of the action to twist himself down and out of the path of the Lance beam as the damaged frontal section folded to become his chest, arms extended from the sides of his space shuttle mode and the thruster section dropped and split to become his legs.

"You Martian traitor!" The shuttle Micron shouted angrily.

Still closing in on his target, Argus engaged his own transformation systems - his armored prow unfolded down until it was open on the same plane as his lance battery, then prow and lance folded backwards along his keel. The upper half of his frigate form folded out to become arms while the rear section, including his engines, extended to become his legs. Twisting in space and slowing to a stop only a few hundred meters away from Raker, Argus' head rose from his chest and the two spacecraft-turned-robots faced off.

"If you would call that treason," Argus countered, "Then we've made the most of it."

"And the next thing you'll have made of you is your deactivated body shell as my newest trophy," Raker retorted.

Argus reached into his subspace pocket and drew out a sword, slightly curved with intricate carvings along the flats of the blade, "I'll never understand Battlefleet Decepticons and their prediliction towards pointless threats."

"You'll regret those words, traitor."

"No regrets," Argus shot back, activating his sword's energy field, "No fear, no doubt, no regrets. Not eight million years ago, not now."

Raising his sword over his head, Argus fired the thrusters that now formed the back of his lower legs, the wings formed by his opened prow flaring outward as he flew towards his opponent. As the distance closed, Argus lowered the sword from a vertical position above him until he was holding it horizonally, blade out to the side. Raker tried to throw himself backwards, out of the way of the oncoming strike, but it was too late; he had underestimated his opponent, doubted that one of the rogues would have it in them to attack with the intent to terminate him. Sparks of lightning filled space around the two as the energy field of Argus' sword met the metal of Raker's body, disrupting the bonds that held the molecules themselves together and allowing the sword to tear its way through the Battlefleet Decepticon until it had severed him in half.

"This battle is over..." Argus informed Raker, "And you're already dead."

"Clear forward," Resolute's voice broke in over Argus' communications systems, "Magnetic containment field up, charging main gun...

Argus adjusted his position and fired his thrusters, flying upward away from Raker as the other mech tried to physically hold himself together.

"Firing," Resolute announced, a white-hot light shooting forward from his main gun and flying across the void.

The magnetically contained ball of plasma impacted with the two pieces of the Battlefleet Decepticon and for a brief moment there was a new star in the sky as the containment was breached and Raker was engulfed in the super-heated gas.

"For those who refuse to see the crime of their actions, there can be no redemption," Argus intoned before twirling his sword and returning it to his subspace pocket.

"This is _Agartha _to all escorts, we've got a clear run to the warp gate; thanks for your help, mechs."


	10. Burnt Out : Skyfire

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, or Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said game. I'm not making any money off of them, I just get to have fun, right?

Author's Note; While I don't actually play any version of Skyfire/Jetfire in Heavy Metal War, I was reading Starfire201's excellent story "Intorqueo de Fortuna" - an Alternate Universe G1/Live-Action mix that works off of the postulate of 'What if Starscream had crashed instead of Skyfire?' to create an interestingly different version of the classic series - when it occurred to me that G1 Skyfire and Stormmaster had a certain trait in common; each of them had at one point been close friends with one of the current Decepticon commanders. While the resulting Personae isn't as long as those featuring the Mars Decepticons as the starring characters, I still felt compelled to write it.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Burnt Out'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>McMurdo Sound, Antarctica<br>planet Earth, Sol system

The Commander of the Decepticon faction that lived on Mars sat down beside the Autobot flier, "Stop me if you've heard this one; A guy falls into a hole that's so deep and so steep that he can't get out, so he starts calling for help. A guy comes along, hears him and jumps down into the hole. The first guy asks him, 'Are you crazy? Now we're both stuck down here.' The other guy answers, 'Yeah, but I've been here before and I know the way out'."

"A... human story, I take it?"

"It's a human joke, yes," Stormmaster responded, "The Autobots can't understand why you still think of Starscream as a friend, they don't understand the bonds that grow between mechs who literally hold each other's sparks in their hands even when its between themselves."

"And you can," Skyfire intoned flatly, "I've already been misled by Decepticons, so you'll forgive me if I am reluctant to fully believe you."

"'I've been here before'," Stormmaster commented, "And you're the lucky one. When you think of Starscream, you remember him as he was nine million years ago, you remember your friend with all his quirks and all his flaws, unsullied by the dirt and stain of war... and I envy you for it, Skyfire of Cybertron. I cannot remember my former teammate, my dearest friend, once as close to me as my own right hand, without that memory being tainted by having watched him become who he is now."

"I paid little attention to the State Games," Skyfire admitted.

"The 'Twin Storms'; Stormmaster the immovable and Megastorm the unstoppable, champions of the Games, between us holders of the All-Cybertron, the 'No Escape' Stipulation, and the Tag Team championships..." Stormmaster commented, looking up at the stars, "We were friends, teammates and brothers..."

"Who is Megastorm?"

"He stopped answering to 'Megastorm' shortly after we took Darkmount, he changed... a stranger with the face of the mech I called 'brother'..." Stormmaster cycled air heavily, "Now they call him 'Megatron'."

Skyfire turned to face Stormmaster, the other mech not moving, "You said 'Megatron'."

"The same," Stormmaster confirmed, "Or rather, 'He is now'."

"Megatron is your brother?"

"We were not sparked together, but in all other ways, we had each adopted the other as such."

"I see."

"Good, because I don't," Stormmaster cycled his air-cooling systems, "I don't see why he changed, so suddenly, into what he's become. I don't see where this obsession with conquest and 'peace through tyranny' came from... I don't see anything of the mech I once knew in him, not anymore. But you... you obviously still see something in the Starscream of now of the Starscream you knew... cherish that, Skyfire, cherish it well..."


	11. The Oncoming Storm : Stormmaster

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'The Oncoming Storm'  
>By J.T. Magnus, Turbo.<p>

* * *

><p>"They have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind." - The Bible, The Book of Hosea, Chapter eight, Verse Seven.<p>

"I see the clouds roll and the lightning play, and to that God who rides the whirlwind and directs the storm, I commit my country..." - Josiah Quincy, "Johnny Tremain".

* * *

><p>I was created long ago, during the waning days of the Golden Age of Cybertron, along with my brother. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot of brotherhood between us. I think... I think our creator knew what was coming, the strife that was building between the three classes of Cybertronians, how the High Council was slowly gathering power, those who were supposed to be guiding us along the Covenant of Primus stepping into the background and the many among the population slowly growing more and more unhappy with the direction Cybertron was taking.<p>

While my brother was created with an ability to lead, he was also programmed with a love of peace; he always felt that the Council was right; it just sometimes appeared otherwise because they didn't tell us what we didn't need to know. My brother had the innate skill to be a leader, but he lacked the fire to change things, to actually take charge and lead...

I was immolated with that fire, I burned with it, it could be seen in my optics, I knew that I was made to take command, to lead and fight...

That's where the brotherhood was lost. When given the flight or fight option, my brother flew and I fought, then we always ended up fighting ourselves because we each thought the other acted wrong. Every time we argued, our creator would talk with us and we'd apologize, but the damage would already be done. It finally reached the point that it was enough, I left. I spent several cycles traveling between city-states, doing little things to keep energon in my systems and dents out of my bodyframe, and then I finally reached the city-state of Tarn in southern Cybertron.

Most teams that competed in the State Games were sponsored by the city-states themselves, or some of the more powerful business entities on Cybertron, there were a few that was even sponsored by wealthy Cybertronians...

Then there's the rare team that had no sponsor, that paid for itself out of its own credits and fought its way up the ranks with no backers...

His name was Megastorm and I had heard it in back-alley fights and energon pub rumors from Iacon to Tarn, he had left the Tarnish team to form his own for the State Games and was looking for mechs to fight alongside him. That's why I was standing there, an Iaconian-Orange bodyshell of a worker-class Cybertronian surrounded by mechs wearing bodyshells and colors that by the majority would be more at home in Tarn, Vos, or even Polyhex, home of Darkmount itself, the military fortress-headquarters.

Some of them I recognized - the Combaticons, a five man team that had been rising in the standings despite strife in Darkmount limiting their funding; Thunderwing, considered by many to be the best aerial gladiator ever; and beyond them were a dozen others, all gathered around one mech, his armor as silver as the planet of Cybertron itself, his optics burning with the same fire I had seen in mine but a million times hotter, the very air around him bowing to his force of will...

Megastorm.

"I have no need, or use, for workers," Megastorm had replied when he learned of my desire to join him, "Go back to Iacon."

"How I was built is not who I am," I retorted, grabbing him by the shoulder as he turned to leave.

"Release me!" He snapped, swinging outward with his arm to catch me across the chest, "How dare you? I am Megastorm, victor of a thousand fights, greatest of the Cybertronian gladiators-"

The right hook that met with his faceplate took him by surprise, cutting off his speech.

"Greatest of the Cybertronian vocalizers, I think, afraid to take the challenge of a worker, afraid of your fellow gladiators learning you were defeated by someone not even part of that fraternity, hm?"

"I'll rip out your optics!" Megastorm's own optics flashed with fury.

With a click, my visor dropped down over mine, as my own anger began to rise, "Feel free to try, Tarnie, feel free to try."

A snarl crossed his lips as Megastorm lunged, hands out to strike. Bringing my own arms up to block, I was still knocked to the ground, easy prey. But unlike the turbofoxes hunted by the wealthy that lived in the towers, I was not going to fall so easily. I shoved him away with my arms and quickly brought my legs up to kick him further, giving me time to get to my feet. I took myself by surprise when I snatched a battle sword away from one of Megastorm's watching teammates and charged the champion of the Games with the intent of deactivating him. I saw Megastorm take up a sword of his own and charge towards me himself with similar intent, only it would be me lying lifeless on the ground. When the two swords met, it was with such force that both blades were damaged, splinters of metal flying in all directions. In what would become my signature move as a Gladiator, I took advantage of my one-handed sword over Megastorm's two-handed one and struck him in the torso using my free hand, firing the welding lasers mounted on my arm as I did so. Megastorm stumbled back and grunted, then launched forward again, taking advantage of an opening in my defenses and driving his sword through my torso.

Through sheer survival instinct and a building blinding rage, I took the sword I was wielding in both hands and brought it down hilt-first on the blade of Megastorm's own. By luck or fate I managed to strike it at a point weakened by the earlier clash and felt a small pleasure at the shock on Megastorm's face as his sword shattered leaving me sorely wounded but again free to move. I lunged, turning his own attack back on him, impaling him with the sword in my hands.

"Yield."

"...Never..."

With one hand, Megastorm grabbed my arm and used it for leverage to pull himself further down the blade of the sword and closer to me. Drawing back his free hand, I felt the plates of my face buckle and warp as he brought it across in a backhand powerful enough to force me to release my grip on the sword and knock me to the ground. Warning lights were going off in my head, punctuated by automated damage reports from my systems as I tried to bring myself up to my knees.

"It's over, worker," Megastorm's gravelly voice hissed from behind me, and after an impact to the back of my helm, I knew no more.

* * *

><p>Team Repair Bay, State Games Stadium<br>planet Cybertron

"Either your caution circuits can't override your courage or you possess a death-wish," was the first thing the worker heard as he began to regain consciousness.

"Who says... it can't be both?" the worker asked in a pained whisper.

"Few have come as close to defeating me as you did... especially with no training, worker," Megastorm observed after chuckling at the other mech's remark, "You have spirit. Good, you will need it because next time we fight each other, you will have the skill to go with it."

"I have a name..."

"No, the worker that challenged me and lost had a name," Megastorm corrected, "You, my teammate, have yet to declare one."

"Thought you had..." the worker winced, "no use for workers."

"As you said," Megastorm smiled lopsidedly, "How you were built is not who you are."

* * *

><p>Locker room, State Games Stadium<br>planet Cybertron

Onslaught raised an optic ridge, "Interesting. I am surprised Megastorm agreed to that as your new designation."

The former-worker countered with a raised optic ridge of his own, "I offered to fight him over it. He felt it wasn't worth the resources it would take to repair us both again."

"Ah," the Combaticon leader nodded in recognition of the strategy, "So in a sense, you _have _'mastered the storm'."

"More that I've appealed to his enlightened self-interest," the now-named Stormmaster replied, "A team can't win the games by fighting amongst themselves, after all..."

* * *

><p>Locker Room, State Games Stadium<br>planet Cybertron

"So, who are the imitations?" Stormmaster asked.

"Identities; Archforce and Sureshot," Soundwave, the team's nominal manager answered, pointing to the displayed images of each competitor in turn.

"I hate repaints," Megastorm grumbled, "Perfectly good bodyshell wasted because he painted it... purple."

Stormmaster shrugged, "At least he's got a different transformation and not the same one, then it'd be even worse, he'd look even more like you."

"I don't care," Megastorm snarled, "He has my face and looks like that, I should deactivate him permanently, just on principle!"

"Continuing," Soundwave interupted, "Weakness located: medical records state Sureshot has been diagnosed with Primus Apotheosis."

"So we're up against a mech whose color scheme alone is enough to make Transformers want him dead and his tag-team partner who wants to become more like the Matrix Bearers even if it means sacrificing himself first chance he gets for anything slightly noble," Stormmaster observed.

"Affirmative."

"Well," the black and gunmetal truck-former decided, "This should be a cavalcade of whimsy."

"I'd prefer an orgy of destruction," his silver teammate countered.

"Yeah, but I can say mine in an interview on the DBN," Stormmaster countered good-naturedly, "You get cut to a commercial."

"Bah!" Megastorm expelled dismissively.

* * *

><p>Locker Room, State Games Stadium<br>planet Cybertron

Megastorm paid little attention to it as his teammate and partner entered the locker room and stormed across it without acknowledging him; he had come to know that when Stormmaster wanted to say something, he'd say it, but until then it was best not to speak to him when the black-and-grey mech was in a mood like this.

"It's the hypocrisy that infuriates me," Stormmaster finally snapped as he punched the wall in frustration. "The worse the planetary energy situation gets, the more the High Council tries to cover it up... and all the while, they've been siphoning off plenty for themselves; you know it, I know, they know it, but the public refuses to consider that the 'ever-wise' Council could ever care more about themselves than about Cybertron."

Megastorm looked up at his teammate, "Interesting. May I ask what brought this on?"

"Soundwave..." Stormmaster jerked his head back towards the door where the indigo-armored team manager stood.

"Oh?" That caught the silver mech's attention, "Speak, Soundwave."

Megastorm's interest only grew when Soundwave stepped into the room, shutting and sealing the door behind him, "Energy crisis; growing. Population; concerned. High Council wishes to ease concerns. Increasing energy resource gathering, decreasing safety protocols."

A miner before he was a gladiator, Megastorm took that news badly, he still considered himself kin to those mechs working in the energon mines, no matter if he was now Champion of the State Games, and a second dent in the wall joined the one made by Stormmaster's fist when Megastorm threw the dataslate he had been studying.

"It gets better," Stormmaster added as he started to pace the room, "The High Council in all their infinate _stupidity_ want to do the same things with the Games to 'distract' Cybertron from 'unsubstantiated negative rumors'. Give the people enough fuelshed to entertain them now and hope that no one comes looking for their own fuel to shed when the truth comes out."

* * *

><p>Secret Meeting, Hidden Location<br>Iacon city-state, planet Cybertron

Stormmaster tilted his head back, a familiar sight to many of those present that said the worker-forged was gathering his thoughts, "Why should our predecessors have fought to expel alien masters from Cybertron if they had meant for those to come after them - for us - to submit to masters from our own numbers? The only sensible answer is that they did not."

"Well said, Stormmaster," Megastorm agreed, gesturing with an open hand, "The High Council claim that 'Freedom is the right of all sentient beings'... but what they really mean is that you only qualify if you follow their will, their path. Freedom is a right, yes, but..."

"But not one given by a governing body or religious leader," Stormmaster rose to his feet, interrupting his teammate, "Freedom is not a right, freedom is a birthright, and we've stood back too long and let the High Council strip us of our freedom claiming that it's 'for the greater good'... You know me, you've fought and shed fuel alongside and against me, you know what I believe. I've seen the hypocrisy of the High Council - including their precious 'caste' system - first-hand and rejected it, chose to stand with those who stand for the freedom of all Cybertronians, and I can tell you now... if we don't stand up, if we don't start taking back our freedom from those in our own government that would oppress us... then soon, we won't have any freedoms left."

"That's treason!" one of the Seekers present spoke up.

"Better to betray a government then to betray ourselves!" Stormmaster snapped back, "The Scholars guide, the Workers create, the Warriors defend, that was how it was supposed to be. Now the Scholars line their own pockets, the Workers dominate our world and the Warriors cower at the thought that funding might be cut... all while the High Council pulls the strings from the shadows. We are Warriors! What were we forged for? What are we meant to do when Cybertron is threatened - from without or within?"

"We fight!" Megastorm's gravelly voice rang out, "Decepticons, the time has come to take back what is ours!"

"To stop the oppressors in their tracks!" Stormmaster added.

"To end the corruption of the council," Thunderwing joined in.

"Sources indicate council filters illegal resources through an energon warehouse designated Storage Yard 67," Soundwave announced, "A shipment is scheduled to arrive in thirty-six jours."

"Decepticons, we will seize - or if we must, eliminate - this shipment and send a message to the council that their corruption will no longer be tolerated. Make ready, there will be no turning back after this... We will be Decepticons... forever!"

"Decepticons Forever!" The three lieutenants repeated, taking it up as a call to arms, "Decepticons Forever!"

The entire room began chanting, "Decepticons Forever! Decepticons Forever! Decepticons Forever!"

* * *

><p>Storage Yard 67, Dockside Warehouse District,<br>Iacon city-state, planet Cybertron

"Those are Guardian robots!"

"Hold the line!" Stormmaster shouted, "If nothing else, we need to give Megastorm enough time to evacuate the Storage Yard!"

The truckformer slammed his feet hard against the ground, launching the stabilizer spikes that were in them to secure himself in position before leaning forward to bring his particle cannons to bear on one of the Guardians.

"Clear forward," Stormmaster announced, then after a moment, "Firing!"

The twin beams struck the Guardian in the head, but the Guardian was made of sterner stuff and undamaged. Turning its head, it brought its helm-mounted cannon around and fired on Stormmaster and nearby Decepticons.

Another truckformer shook his head, "They're really trying to kill us!"

"Yeah, overkill for simple theft," one of the other Decepticons snapped back, "What are we supposed to do now?"

"Fall back!" Stormmaster shouted, countermanding his previous order, "Decepticons, fall back and regroup at the next defensible position!"

* * *

><p>Hidden Location,<br>Iacon city-state, planet Cybertron

Stormmaster stood beside Megastorm, "One of my troopers remarked that those Guardians were overkill for responding to a simple energon theft."

"Delicious irony, isn't it?" Megastorm rumbled, "If it hadn't been the High Council's siphon facility, do you think there would have been Guardians there? That in itself is proof of our claims, isn't it?"

"Perhaps," Stormmaster remarked, "But now my concerns are justified; the High Council is already painting us as lawless renegades on the newsfeeds, attacking a simple Energon warehouse... and let's get something clear here, that stunt you pulled with the dockworker and his friends was exactly what we didn't need."

"They could have identified us," Megastorm justified.

"And now we're identified anyway," Stormmaster countered, "So it gained us nothing and now the Council can use it to portray us as cold-steel killers. You wanted a war, Megastorm? A grand battle for independence, a battle between good and evil to the death? Well, you've got it..."

Stormmaster turned to walk away, then stopped to add, "We've all got it."

"You were ready to raise arms as much as I was," Megastorm retorted.

"To raise arms against the Council, not against the innocents they'll use this to trick into standing against us. Now the very people we're fighting for will become the ones we'll must fight against," Stormmaster answered before he walked away.

* * *

><p>military headquarters, Darkmount Citadel,<br>Polyhex city-state, planet Cybertron

With the capture of the Citadel, Megastorm's Decepticons had transcended from a mere group of dangerous rebels to a full-on decisive force on Cybertron. With their newly-gained control over the military infrastructure across the planet, they had also gained a stronghold from which to push on to Iacon itself and the High Council fortified behind its walls. It wasn't uncommon for a Transformer to take on a new name in recognition of a defining change in their life and so it was that Megastorm had redesignated himself as Megatron and the Decepticons were now to be known properly as the 'Decepticon Battlefleet', according to the speech that he had just given to the assembled Decepticons, Neutrals and prisoners gathered in front of the Citadel. A speech that was now ending with Megatron presenting his new vision for Cybertron.

"Many hands have failed Cybertron," Megatron's voice echoed from the balcony of Darkmount as he raised his arms, "Let us let two hands lead us!"

In the shadows behind the silver mech, Stormmaster crossed his arms and frowned behind his battle-mask, turning away and walking into the Citadel.

"Peace through tyranny!" Megatron's words echoed after Stormmaster as he kept walking.


	12. Dog of War : Highground

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

Author's Note: If you've played Just Cause 2, imagine Highground's 'employer' having 'Razor' Razman's voice. Fun game. Easy to get lost in just traveling around and causing chaos, lot less linear feeling than the original Just Cause, too, especially since you don't have to 'open' areas before wreaking havoc in them...

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Dog of War'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>A shot rings out; a man falls; a woman screams; people come running, looking around for the source of the shooter; from a rooftop almost a mile away, a helicopter takes off... flying away from the area.<p>

For him, just another day's work. Leave the pitched battles and glorious combat to the rest, he preferred being the sniper's bullet, the dagger in the dark, the miscommunicated co-ordinates, the re-targeted artillery or airstrike, that was how he operated. Of course, he was well-compensated for it. Unlike most of the Decepticons that had settled on Mars, he wasn't a soldier or a freedom fighter. Highground was a mercenary, plain and simple and unashamed to admit it. Of course, whenever anyone actually called him that, he gladly corrected them that he wasn't just a mercenary - he was a _well-paid_ mercenary. A well-paid mercenary with an open contract with a being that would turn him into a sidetable without the use of transformation systems if he ever violated the terms of their agreement, but a still well-paid mercenary. A well-paid mercenary who was about to be paid, in fact. Bad things happened to former-employers when he didn't get paid. As a mercenary, he took that somewhat personally. In the end, everyone paid. The smart ones paid on time and in full, the foolish had the costs of both the original contract and then the additional collection expenses taken more forcefully.

Actually, he'd only had to do that the one time here on Earth, then word got around. Most people were intelligent enough or at least had enough sense of self-preservation not to make large shape-changing alien robots that - among other things - were willing to kill for profit unhappy with them.

In an open field outside of the city, Highground landed and transformed next to the waiting Lincoln Zephyr, kneeling beside the vehicle.

One of the rear windows rolled down and the passenger in the back seat spoke, "It is done?"

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't."

"You are expensive, alien," the passenger remarked, "But worth every bit of it, yes?"

"So I've been told."

The passenger made a series of gestures to the person in the front passenger seat, "Your payment is being sent to the appropriate locations. Precious gems and metals, yes? Useful on places besides Earth, I'm sure."

"Then our contract is concluded?" Highground asked.

"Yes, concluded. Though I will keep you in mind for future... arrangements, yes?"

"Well, if this contract is concluded..." Highground chuckled, "Why wait?"

"I have nothing for you right now And it would be... unwise for us to associate too often, yes?"

"I don't think it will be considered associating," Highground informed him, suddenly drawing back his fist and bringing it down on the front of the car, smashing the radiator, damaging the front suspension and leaving the vehicle inoperable.

The passenger scrambled to the other side of the back seat, "What are you doing, alien? We had a contract!"

"And I fulfilled that contract," Highground reminded him, "You said so yourself. It just happens I have another contract that involves you."

"Protect me, drive it off, yes?" The passenger ordered his driver and his bodyguard in the front seats.

Reacting automatically to their employer's orders, the two people in the front seats opened their doors and exited the car; the bodyguard on the right-hand-side of the car dropping into a kneeling position on the ground next to the car while the driver on the left-hand-side remained standing and braced their gun on the roof of the car.

"This is your last chance, alien," the passenger ordered, drawing strength from the drawn guns of his men, "Leave now and I will forget this... insult, yes?"

Unfortunately for his former employer, Highground didn't need the strength of others to give himself strength - just a good weapon, and over his career he had acquired quite a few of those. The sonic-stun gun he drew from subspace in a blue flash was one of those weapons, not as effective against most mechanical lifeforms as their hearing and balance systems were seperate, to an organic it could be painful, disorienting, or even deadly if used outside the standard settings. Under standard settings, however, it was normally used to force a target into unconsciousness by disrupting their senses. Carefully aiming the weapon, Highground pulled the trigger and the driver and bodyguard dropped their weapons and clutched their ears before they dropped to the ground.

The passenger scrambled out the opposite side door from Highground, tumbling onto the grass before looking up at the Cybertronian, "You are a double-crossing traitorous dog!"

"I prefer the term 'mercenary', it's easier to say," Highground answered back, taking aim at his former employer, "It's nothing personal, it's just business - Since I'm no longer under your employ, I'm free to capture for someone willing to pay a substantial bounty for you alive. That's not a double-cross, that's just business, strictly business."

Highground fired his sonic-stun gun again, this time at the passenger, shaking his head as his former employer fell to the ground unconscious.

"I wish you had just stayed in the car, now I've got to load you all back up..."

* * *

><p>Outside INTERPOL Headquarters,<br>Lyon, France,  
>planet Earth, Sol system.<p>

Numerous members of INTERPOL gathered in front of their headquarters to watch as an Mi-24 'Hind' helicopter with a Lincoln Zephyr dangling from a grappling hook lowered its cargo to the ground before releasing it. Drifting down until he was almost landed, Highground transformed into his robot mode and knelt next to the Zephyr.

"Here you are, Inspector," Highground addressed a figure that he recognised from previous dealings, "One member of your 'Most Wanted' list, complete with two underlings and his brand new car."

The Inspector walked over and opened the door to the rear of the car, taking a look inside, "_Sacre chat_..."

He quickly gestured to some of the watching INTERPOL members, "You, get them inside, quickly. I want them in our custody and secure before they can wake."

As people rushed to move the prisoners inside, Highground turned his attention to a more important - to him, at least - part of the situation, "I believe you know the account numbers in Switzerland to send the reward money to, Inspector."

"We know the account," The Inspector confirmed, "I will admit, however, some of us are... curious about what does a robot need with money?"

Highground shook his head as though disappointed by the question, "I like money. I use a lot of it."

As though that explained everything - and perhaps it did - Highground activated his flight systems and lifted off into the air, hovering there for a moment before transforming to his Hind mode and flying away. All in a day's work.


	13. Decision Point : Krunix

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Decision Point'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>"A man's got to know his limitations." Inspector 'Dirty' Harry Callahan, "Magnum Force".<p>

* * *

><p>Outpost Venator,<br>Decepticon Observation and Defence post  
>Olympus Mons, planet Mars, Sol system<p>

"Outpost Venator to Mariner Base, nothing to report."

"Confirmed, Venator. Continue watch. Change-over in two hours, Mars Standard Time."

"Understood, Base. Venator out."

Scheduled status report complete, Krunix turned his attention back to watching the sky. He enjoyed skywatching, his enhanced targeting systems allowed him to track multiple objects with greater accuracy and he often passed the time while on Observation duty by picking out objects in the sky and tracking them, plotting fire patterns and mentally registering the non-existant 'kills'.

While not so far gone as to be considered fully paranoid, Krunix was well-aware of the fact that he could be considered overly-cautious at times, always watching for the next attack. It was part of who he was, a holdover from his days in the Darkmount Air Defense Battalion, an assignment he had been glad to leave. Defenders, after all, if their own side kept up the attack, rarely got to fight and if there was one thing that warrior-build Cybertronians weren't just good at but enjoyed as well, it was fighting. Though he wasn't too ashamed to admit - privately, at least - that abandoning his station when the air defenses were broken, jumping off Darkmount and dropping down into the middle of the attacking forces announcing for those on his own side to save some for him was neither the smartest nor the most intimidating thing he could've done at the time.

Especially since he landed right in front of the commander of the attacking ground forces.

Who at the time happened to have their particle cannons deployed...

Charged...

And within a matter of seconds after Krunix had given his shout, he had been blasted at point-blank range, lifted into the air and carried along to slam first into the main doors of Darkmount itself and then slam into the ground as the particle beams blasted the door open and ended, permitting the attackers entry into the fortress.

* * *

><p>Command and Control room,<br>military headquarters, Darkmount Citadel,  
>Polyhex city-state, planet Cybertron<br>circa nine million B.C., human Gregorian calendar

The fact that he surived was amazing. That he was still active, even if only barely, was almost unable to be believed. He had been burned, blackened, battered, his armour melted through in places, his self-repair systems at the limit and damage warnings playing a sprightly tune in his processor, but he lived. He was captured by the attacking force, but he lived.

He had lived and was captured by the attackers; taken, held and even treated to repair the damage he had sustained. Krunix had remained a prisoner throughout the Taking of Darkmount, the first but not the last defender of the Citadel to be captured by the rebels that called themselves the Decepticons, the same Decepticons that had gained control of the citadel from which all military operations were co-ordinated. He had no certain idea of how much time had passed before he and other prisoners were taken from their cells and brought to the heart of Darkmount...

The command and control room.

Sitting on the command throne, flanked by his commanders and resplendent in polished silver was the former-gladiator champion-turned-rebel supreme commander himself; Megastorm, the Triumph of Tarn, the Unstoppable Storm, the Slagmaker.

Krunix didn't know whether to feel honored or terrified.

To Megastorm's left stood the very mech that had led the ground assault on Darkmount and whose cannons had laid Krunix low, the other half of the infamous 'Twin Storms' and now the Ground Commander of the Decepticon forces, the Immovable Storm in black and gunmetal, Stormmaster. And beside him, in grey and blue metal that appeared more sculpted than simply cast, the Air Commander of the Decepticons, Thunderwing. Across from Stormmaster, at Megastorm's right hand, Shockwave stood, the Operations Commander's mono-ocular faceplate betraying no hint of his thoughts as he surveyed the prisoners. Last of the five and perhaps the most dangerous in his own way as rumors claimed that the Intelligence Commander was capable of reading the electronic impulses of one's thoughts right out of their cranial unit, Soundwave stood at the far right end.

Krunix decided on terrified and tried his best not to show it.

Stormmaster folded his arms across his chest and spoke, "I will pay each of you the honor of being blunt; the High Council is as corrupt as Dark Energon."

"Says a traitor and murderer!" One of the other prisoners shouted back, breaking ranks and stepping forward.

Stormmaster looked to his tag-team partner and Megastorm nodded once, just one time, that was all it took. On the other side of the assembled Decepticons, Shockwave raised the arm that included his integrated weapon and fired a precise shot that penetrated the prisoner's neck and destroyed their vocaliser without damaging any of the other systems in the vunerable area.

"Consider that a reminder that you shouldn't interrupt someone when they are speaking," Shockwave stated plainly.

Krunix knew better than to doubt the Decepticons - even a low-ranking soldier assigned to Darkmount hears things and some of those things failed to put the High Council in a good light, things like those who spoke out against Council policies being assigned to low-priority posts that were considered career-killers or worse, suffering 'training accidents' - and besides, he had served under commanders who would have done the same thing, just to prove a point, if they had been interrupted in the middle of a briefing...

And some of those wouldn't have bothered being as precise, either.

"We have betrayed nothing," Megastorm growled, "Our loyalty is and will always remain with Cybertron, not to its institutions or its officeholders. Our loyalty is to Cybertron itself, it is the real thing, the substantial thing, the eternal thing; it is the thing to watch over, and care for, and be loyal to; institutions are extraneous, they reach an end of their usefulness, they become more harmful than good... just as the High Council has become now.."

Stormmaster took a step forward and continued for his tag-teammate; "The time has come to keep your oaths. Stand with us and stand for Cybertron. The enemy is domestic, the threat it poses grave. Now the time has come to make a fateful decision... Duty, Honor or Life... For I tell you, my fellows - they that chose Duty will be forced to face those that choose Honor in battle and one or the other must fall, for Duty and Honor now contend with the whole world as the prize."

"And what of Life?" One of the prisoners asked.

"Of Life, I say little," Stormmaster answered, "Life does not accept their Duty to the Council or the Honor of their oath, Life will not fight for government or freedom; Life will return home to its cities and towns, there to wait out the coming tide of war and there to stay, for they that choose Life are already dead, for they have nothing for which they are willing to give that Life. And I would not have them beside me or against me in any matter."

"While my teammate is more... poetic than I would like," Megastorm rumbled, "He speaks the truth. Each of you swore to defend Cybertron against all enemies - foreign and domestic, to obey _lawful _orders from your superiors. Now you have to decide which is more important to you; obedience whether the orders or lawful or not... or defending Cybertron, no matter who the enemy is..."

"The choice is yours," Thunderwing finally spoke, "You can join us or you can choose to be remanded to Kaon Prison Complex as prisoners-of-war until the end of hostilities and appointment of a new leadership... Furthermore, those that promise to take no further part in the conflict, even on our own side, we will permit their parole to return to their homes."

The largest of the prisoners, a Lambda-class Guardian from the orbital stations, announced loudly, "Had you attacked the Council itself, your words might be worth listening to - but you've gone after everyone except the Council; innocents, soldiers, workers. Your reasons turn upon you like cyberdogs upon their masters!"

Krunix watched as Stormmaster stepped forward, growling, "We attack no one who doesn't support the Council and hasn't attacked us first. If the Council had the mettle to leave their chambers and defend their actions with words and deed, we'd be grateful. Instead, they surround themselves with Security Forces, Defense Battalion and hide behind the inhabitants of Iacon as human shields, sending others out to fight and die in their place!"

"I would rather die than serve you!" Lambda Tertius spat at the Decepticon leaders.

"So you have proven," Megastorm rumbled, "Very well... Perhaps your fellow prisoners will be more willing to see reason."

While the majority of the prisoners talked among themselves, discussing their options with those that they knew, the one who earlier had accused the Decepticons of being traitors and murderers took their opportunity and made to attack Megastorm, charging forward through the surrounding Transformers towards the command throne, surprising the other prisoners. None of the Decepticon commanders made to move until the attacker was almost within range of the command throne, then Megastorm suddenly stood up and thrust out his hand before the attacker could stop, catching them around the neck and lifting them into the air before bringing them down hard onto the floor in a choke-slam.

"Pathetic," Megastorm sneered derisively as he sat back down, his partner had been a more dangerous opponent when the mech was still just a worker-caste brawler with no gladiator training.

When the attacker stood up and snarled, Stormmaster moved, wrapping one arm around their neck in a headlock before reaching down to grab them by a leg, as soon as he had a good hold, he lifted them into the air and spun them so that they were upside down before bringing them down in a head-first piledriver.

"Just stay down," the black-and-grey mech cautioned, taking a step back.

For many of the watching prisoners, that impromptu display was enough to decide matters for them, Krunix included.

The Air Defense Gunner took two steps towards the command throne - convienently keeping himself behind the mech who had just attacked the throne and been beaten down - and put his fist to his chest, a warrior-build sign of fealty, "Hail Megastorm, leader of the Decepticons!"

Before the echo of his words had faded away, other prisoners had stepped forward and followed suit, "Hail Megastorm, leader of the Decepticons!"


	14. Death Valley : Dart

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

This Personae's unofficial voice credits include the late, great Mel Blanc as Dart. You'll understand why...

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'Death Valley'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>Knowledge is power.<p>

An ancient axiom, but a popular one. I think it's incomplete. I prefer 'knowledge is power when it's where it can be used effectively'. Information is ineffective if it arrives too late to be of use. Which is why communications in times of conflict are so important; both securing your own side's and disrupting or intercepting the opposing force's. When communication security is suspect or a message simply too important to trust to normal lines of communication, that's where I come in. My function is to get the message though by any means necessary.

Which usually turns into an episode of the human entertainment program 'Dastardly And Muttley In Their Flying Machines'. Ironic considering that my alternate mode is based on a human magnetic-levitation train, not a flying machine At least I've refused the attempts to convince me to let my alternate mode be re-engineered into a mechanical road-runner. Bodge-Job's engineering team may think they're funny, but they're not. I've watched Looney Tunes. For one thing, the character Roadrunner is actually closer to an ostrich in design than a true road-runner, the head and tail are the wrong shape.

And the Coyote is probably smarter than your average Battlefleet Decepticon for another. Understandable considering that most of the Transformers that actually believed in the Decepticon cause and what it was meant to stand for left with one renegade Commander or another during the Sundering, leaving Megatron with most of the bullies, sycophants, self-serving types and other dregs rounded out by a few decent types. The special team that I'm dealing with at the moment, however, definately fail to qualify on that last, but between them they have the others just about completely covered.

The Stunticons.

Or as I like to call them with backhanded affection, my own private Wile E. Coyote-cons, ACME not included. They try, they really do, I'll give them that, but just like Wile E., they always end up charred and smoking or battered and smashed. It doesn't help that they've only got one processing cycle between them and unfortunately for them it's the one that Menasor needs to use Scrambletech. They're made up of a braggart, a lunatic, a defeatist and a nervous-wreck, all led by a bully...

And on the other side of the yellow line on the road; me, Dart, Martian Decepticon courier.

I'd almost feel sorry for them if I didn't know they were all stupid enough to keep trying. Honestly, sooner or later a bot's got to ask themselves, 'am I ever going to catch that train?'

In their case, they couldn't catch a train even if they bought a ticket.

Speaking of which... and on today's episode, the Stunticons will try and stop the train, most likely failing and suffering damage in the process. Actually, episode isn't that bad an idea. I've got to get a better sensor suite; I could make a fortune turning these courier runs into a show.

* * *

><p>"You again?" Dart asked, boosting his magnetic field output so that the yellow Formula One car that had just tried to sideswipe him passed right under.<p>

"I'm gonna get you this time, Marsie, getcha good!" Drag Strip crowed.

"That's what you've said every time, Drag Strip," Dart retorted, "I'm still waiting."

"In just a second, you won't be waiting for anything ever again," Wildrider threatened, coming up from behind to flank Dart on the opposite side from his teammate.

"Clown to the left of me, joker to the right... Stealers Wheel would be proud of me," Dart taunted.

"Let's show this rail racer who rules the road!" Wildrider shouted

"Smash 'im, smash 'im, smash 'im!" Drag Strip chanted in agreement.

The two Stunticons moved to the outside edges of the road before swerving inward, trying to catch Dart in a classic 'squeeze play'. Unfortunately for them, they underestimated the Martian's control of his magnetic abilities; increasing the output of the field generators that allowed him to hover, Dart lifted higher into the air where he transformed to robot mode and landed with his feet on the two Stunticons as they came together underneath him.

"Hey! Get off!" Wildrider ordered.

"Watch the spoiler, Marsie," Drag Strip complained.

"You're the ugliest set of roller-skates I've ever seen..." Dart informed them, "And that's including those wingnut Battlechargers..."

Saying that, Dart activated his magnetic field generators in 'attract' mode, using them to secure himself to the Stunticons and started throwing his weight around.

"Hey, watch it!"

"Are you crazy?"

"One might," Dart jerked his weight again, making the two cars steer to the right, "Think that," and again to the right, "Couldn't they?"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," the Stunticons started firing off negatives quickly as they realised what they were now headed towards now that they were off the road, a large rock facing that formed the backside of a hill.

As they quickly approached the cliff face, Dart inverted the polarity of his mag-field to 'repel' to break free from the Stunticons and fired his foot-mounted thrusters to allow him to go upwards and land on top of the hill as the two cars, newly acquired scorch marks included, slammed into the rocks below.

Dart looked back over the edge of the cliff, down towards the dented and smoking forms of the two Stunticons, "That's gotta hurt!"

Then he spun and dropped as he transformed back into bullet train mode and headed down the sloped side of the hill.

* * *

><p>With two Stunticons out of the immediate running, the remaining three only redoubled their efforts to intercept Dart, once more proving the human axiom about a fanatic being one who redoubles their effort whenever they lose sight of their goal.<p>

"You know, I kind of get the feeling that there's some hostility here," Dart remarked as Motormaster blasted his horn from behind the courier.

"Run 'im off the road!" the Special Team leader demanded of his subordinates.

"Haven't you ever heard of 'please'?" Dart retorted as he adjusted his magnetic projectors so that the closer Motormaster and the Stunticons tried to get, the more they ended up pushing him away, "When you're trying to kill a mech, it doesn't hurt to be polite, you know!"

Speeding down the long highway through the desert, Dart's sensors scanning around him picked up a cliff that as he went past it flowed from cliff to ridge to sloping hillside, giving the Martian courier an idea. Using his mag-field to reduce the friction while at the same time keep him from spinning out, Dart flipped a switchblade turn and before the Stunticon trio could react had shot back through their ranks heading for the slope.

"What was that?"

"He's behind us!"

"Get him!"

The Stunticons tried to brake and turn to go after their target, skidding to leave black marks on the road - and in Motormaster's case, almost jackknifing his trailer over - before they regained control and went off-road, following Dart intently.

Which was exactly what he wanted them to be doing.

As Dart went up the slope, he picked up speed until he reached the cliff, then increased the output of his mag-lev systems, launching himself into the air. Without thinking of the consequences or the situation, the Stunticons rev'd their engines and followed him over the cliff, just like he wanted. Transforming to his robot mode, Dart blasted them with magnetic force causing them to lose momentum and drop to the ground.

"Who would have ever thought that watching monster trucks with Bodyblock would be so educational?" Dart commented as he transformed back into mag-lev train mode, catching himself with another magnetic field as he landed and spun around to head off back down the highway.

It was only a matter of moments before the two Stunticons that had been the first to suffer reached the rest of their group, but Dart was already out of sight.

"You look like junkyard-bait," Wildrider announced as he and Drag Strip came upon their brethern.

"Oh, shut up," Breakdown snapped.

"Enough playing around!" Motormaster snarled, "Stunticons, transform... stage two!"

All five Stunticons flew into the air before Motormaster gave the next order.

"Stunticons, merge to form..."

Parts shifted and moved, bodies becoming limbs and taking their places until finally one of the Decepticon gestalts hung in the air and spoke...

"Menasor!"

"Oh, look," Dart muttered, picking up the transformation on his sensors, "They've decided to try working together... I give it another eight minutes."

* * *

><p>Menasor had caught up with Dart and landed in front of the Martian, making his intentions known.<p>

"Menasor will smash little train..."

"Hey, do I look O scale to you?" Dart demanded, transforming again into robot mode and dodging out of the way of the gestalt's hand, "You want to play with trains, try a hobby store!"

Growling, Menasor drew back and smashed down with the other hand. Dart used his magnetic repulsors to dodge backwards, then lunged forwards, skimming up Menasor's arm until he was hovering just above Menasor's shoulder next to the gestalt's head. What happened next proved that for whatever else he might be, Menasor was definately not the smartest of the Decepticon gestalts when, trying to hit Dart, he struck himself in the head when the Martian Transformer used a combination of magnetic repulsion and flight systems to backflip over his head and end up hovering over the opposite shoulder.

"Eh, nice try," Dart taunted.

Correction, what happened _next_ proved that Menasor barely had the processing power of one of his individual components, never mind all five combined, as he again swung towards the smaller Transformer and instead impacted with his own cranial unit when Dart jumped off and down to the ground.

"What a maroon," Dart chuckled as Menasor roared in pain and frustration, "What an ignoramus. What a crumbling rust-sore on the skidplate of the Transformer race..."

"What a..." Dart glanced back over his shoulder and started to smirk, "Hellooo..."

Dart lived by the concept that 'knowledge is power when it is where it can be used effectively'. Between that and being a courier, information was his stock and trade, information like the fact that, for some reason, combined gestalts rarely used projectile weapons, prefering hand-to-hand combat. Combining that information with the knowledge of the surrounding terrain that he had just gained, Dart now had a plan.

"Hey! Mena-_bore_! You can't hit me!"

Menasor growled and took an underhand swipe at the courier, missing when Dart dodged backwards away from the gestalt.

"Eh, were you trying to hit me or fan me there, big guy?"

This time, the Battlefleet gestalt raised both hands and brought them down in a hammerblow with Dart throwing himself backwards and rolling to avoid it.

"Too slow! I can see why Megatron doesn't keep you with the rest of his merry band of psychopaths."

Now Dart moved before Menasor could so that he was using his mag-lev abilities and flying circuits to hover just off the edge of a cliff, suspended in mid-air as he unleashed his ultimate taunt...

"Devastator's scarier than you - and he's lime green!"

Menasor roared and lunged at the Martian courier, intent on his deactivation. Before the larger Transformer could react, Dart used the same abilities that allowed him to leviatate as he did to flip up and over the gestalt and blast him with magnetic repulsion, sending him tumbling over the cliff and down to the canyon floor hundreds of feet below.

* * *

><p>I shouldn't. I really shouldn't, but I'm going to anyway. I'm standing on the ledge that Menasor just went over and I can't resist. Using my mag-lev abilities, I jump into the air and hang there long enough to click my feet together twice before I make a sound.<p>

"Meep-meep!"

* * *

><p>Down on the canyon floor, Motormaster heard the beeping sound coming from above and shifted under the pile of Stunticons he was at the bottom of, groaning, "Ooo... I hate that train."<p> 


	15. To The Dream : Mars

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. Whether or not that goal can be reached, we'll see... This is The 365 Project, 20 January... Doctor Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, which is copyright Hasbro, or Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said game and to play with in Hasbro's giant robot sandbox. I'm not making any money off of them, just trying to have some fun.

* * *

><p>"Dramatis Personae"<br>'To The Dream'  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

* * *

><p>Main Communications Room,<br>Decepticon Base, Valles Marineris,  
>planet Mars, Sol system<br>28 August, 1963

As Senior Communications Officer, one of Soundcaster's duties involved observing the radio, television and other transmissions of the humans on Earth. Most of the transmissions he and the other Communications specialists picked up from the neighboring planet were not noteworthy, but sometimes they picked up one that was worth listening to...

'Worth sharing', Soundcaster thought as he flipped a switch on his control board and transferred the incoming signal to Valles Marineris' emergency address system.

* * *

><p>"I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream."<p>

Half-buried in the depths of a malfunctioning generator, Bodge-Job stopped, tool still in hand as he listened to the words.

"Chief," one of the other engineers started, only to be cut-off by a tightband transmission from the green Maintenance Engineer.

'Quiet.'

* * *

><p>In the residential section of Valles Marineris, the Micromaster Emergency Response Patrol were sitting in a room, discussing the repairs needed for a flyer whose wings had been battered during a canyon run by falling rocks when the transmission came over the EAS.<p>

"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal'."

Even Air-Lift couldn't make a smart remark as he listened, sharing a look with his fellow Micromasters and thinking of how Microns from Minibots to Micromasters to Minicons were thought of by many 'bulk' Transformers.

* * *

><p>"I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.<p>

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice."

Looking at a monitor in his office that was now displaying the transmission which Soundcaster had picked up and passed on, Chief of Security Longarm folded his arms and behind his battlemask smiled, he believed strongly in justice, it was why he had joined the Decepticons and later followed Stormmaster into rebellion against Megatron.

'An oasis of freedom and justice,' Longarm thought, 'I like that.'

* * *

><p>"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."<p>

Steamhook stopped in his tracks as he thought back. For a race that could change color as easily as they changed forms, color shouldn't normally mean much yet it did. Because of the minerals and metals differing from place to place on Cybertron, some colors were more easily associated with certain groups; orange with Iacon and then the Autobots, the purple metals found around Kaon and Polyhex made people think of Decepticons...

And cobalt blue was associated with the Decepticon Battlefleet's 'Public Safety Unit', an association with which Steamhook was too familiar. It was a color he would always remember because of events he had associated with cobalt blue and the so-called 'Cobalt Sentries'; the destruction of Tonnehex, his own imprisonment, the deaths of so many civilians, the beginning of the Sundering... and he had carried that weight for a hundred kilovorns or more.

Steamhook shook his head, 'Maybe it's time I let it go. I don't even know where that scrapheap Wolftone and the other Cobalt Sentries are, or even if their still active... it's time I stop letting them have any power over me.'

* * *

><p>"I have a dream today.<p>

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisteres and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."

Uplink frowned and spoke outloud, "The sheer amount of effort that would need to be exerted to level every mountain and fill in every valley would be prohibitive at Earth's current level of technological advancement."

Near enough to have heard the self-taught scientist's words, the Lambda-class former-Guardian known as 'Stonewall' shook his head, knowing that the other mech with his focus on precision and scientifically verifiable facts would probably never understand something that invoved the human spirit... or a Cybertronian's, for that matter.

'Flesh... and metal, too, I wonder," Stonewall flexed the claw-like fingers of one of his hands.

* * *

><p>"This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day."<p>

Anla'shok stopped his staff practice and listened, leaning on his fighting pike.

'Faith, hope, brotherhood, freedom', the Cybertronian Ranger thought, 'Simple words for such meaning behind them.'

* * *

><p>"This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, 'My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.'<p>

And if America is to be a great nations this must becme true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!"

Athena walked into the office of her partner and the Commander of the Martian Decepticons, looking around for him since she knew he was supposed to be there. Then she saw the doors leading out to the balcony behind his desk open and she walked around the desk towards them.

"Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!  
>Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!<br>But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!  
>Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!<br>Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring."

Stormmaster stood there, leaning against the railing, braced by his hands as he listened to the words and the thoughts and feelings they invoked, reminders of what the Decepticons had been meant to be, reminders of why they had been torn Asunder. He didn't turn at the sound of his partner's footsteps or when she put one of her hands over one of his and joined him in looking out across the base - the city - that had been built on Mars.

'Primus,' Stormmaster silently prayed, 'I don't know if I belief or not, but if you exist and have any connection to what humans call God, I ask you now... let things be better for them than they were for us...'

* * *

><p>The steps of the Lincoln Memorial,<br>Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America,  
>planet Earth, Sol system<br>28 August, 1963

Unaware of how far his audience reached, Reverend Doctor Martin Luthor King, Jr. finished his speech...

"And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, 'Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last'!"


	16. Hold Or Fold : Bodge-Job

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

* * *

><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"Dramatis Personae"  
>'Hold or Fold'<br>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

-o0O0o-

* * *

><p>Triplex Alpha colony,<br>planet Triplex-III, Triplex system  
>circa two million B.C., human Gregorian calendar.<p>

During the Golden Age, Cybertron established colonies. Some prospered, some faltered, all lost contact with their parent world when conflict broke out. Imagine how it feels to be among those living in a colony that's barely surviving when for the first time in millions of years, Transformers arrive from Cybertron. Imagine the feeling of re-establishing contact with the homeworld, of no longer being alone in the universe. Imagine what it feels like.

Imagine what it feels like to learn that Cybertron has been ravaged by civil war. Imagine learning that far from being a rescue party, the newly arrived military constructs are in self-exile. Imagine now knowing that far from a chance to return home, the home you've dreamed about for so long no longer exists. Imagine what it feels like.

This is what it is like, right now, to be Bodge-Job, Chief Maintenance Engineer of Triplex Alpha colony.

-o0o-

* * *

><p>Bodge-Job looked across the rooftop at the dark form of the exile leader.<p>

"It's been almost seventy-two kilovorns since we left Cybertron," the 'Commander' remarked without actually acknowledging the Triplexian's presence, "I've actually lost count of how many planets I've seen in that time, but it still amazes me how the beauty that Cybertronians had to design and build into our world comes so naturally to other planets. Whether one chooses to be a Primusite or not, I can think of no better proof that there's a higher power in the universe than this."

"Why did you do it?" Bodge-Job asked.

"Why did I join with Megatron, begin a Third War?" the Commander shrugged, "I could give you any number of answers based on morals, ethics, programming, religion, training... so many variables with so many answers, but they all come down to one... simple... reason... Why did I do it? Because, like so many things in life, it seemed like a good idea at the time, Chief Engineer."

Bodge-Job walked across the rooftop and stood at the edge next to the Commander, looking out across the surface of Triplex Alpha, "It's like this place, then. It was a good idea at the time; minerals, oil, energy, we'd ship them to Cybertron and they'd return what we needed. Nobody ever thought about what would happen if contact was lost or if those resources ran out."

"No one ever wants to think about the worst coming to pass," the Commander acknowledged, "Which is why so many are unprepared when it does."

"You sound as though you're speaking from experience," the engineer observed.

"Experience..." the Commander repeated, "...That's as good a word for it as any other word... A good word for having gone through things myself I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies..."

"I see..."

"No, you don't... and I hope you never do," the Commander countered, turning away from the edge and walking towards the lift.

-o0o-

* * *

><p>renegade Decepticon flagship <em>Exodite<br>_orbiting planet Triplex-III, Triplex system  
>circa two million B.C., human Gregorian calendar.<p>

Longarm put his hand on a chair and looked over the occupant's shoulder, "Anything worth noting for the Commander when he gets back?"

Soundcaster shook his head, "Ship's systems normal. Fleet reports all ships the same... except for a minor altercation on the _Reprisal_."

"Amuse me," Longarm requested, "It's been a long shift. Amuse me, please..."

"It seems that somehow Sinker and Fonticulus both ended up on the same ship after we left the last planet," the Communications Officer answered.

"And those two never have got along," Longarm concluded with a groan, "Who's commanding _Reprisal_?"

"One moment," Soundcaster typed in a few commands on his console, "Looks like... Looks like Precedius is commanding _Reprisal _at the moment_."_

"Send a message to _Reprisal_. Tell Precedius to make sure that one of those diode-blowing dimwits is on another ship before we go trans-light again," the former Iacon Security Force officer-turned-Decepticon instructed as he took his hand off the chair and started walking away.

"Aye, aye, sir," Soundcaster responded, humming as he typed out the message to send to the other ship.

"And don't call me, 'sir'," Longarm snapped back over his shoulder.

"Technically, it is the correct form of address. You are Chief of Security, an officer rank, for what it's worth," A voice interjected from the hatch leading into the bridge.

Longarm scoffed behind his battlemask, "If they've got to call me something for that, I'd rather they just call me 'Chief'. I'm no officer, I was a patroller. Only reason I'm even Chief of Security is 'cause the Commander trusts me."

Uplink's visor darkened slightly along the top edge before returning to normal, the cargo handler-turned-scientist's version of a raised optic ridge, "That in itself is telling, Longarm."

"Maybe," Longarm loosely conceded, "What brings you to the bridge?"

Uplink became all business, "Unsettling information gathered by my team and myself, confirmed by scientist contingents on the other fleet ships, Security Chief."

On the list of words that Longarm never liked to hear, that statement had included one of the top ones, "How unsettling?"

Uplink answered by holding out a data reader for Longarm to look over, which the Security Chief did.

"Slag," Longarm swore, "Soundcaster, get me the Commander... Now."

-o0o-

* * *

><p>Triplex Alpha colony,<br>planet Triplex-III, Triplex system  
>circa two million B.C., human Gregorian calendar.<p>

Halfway across the roof on his way to the lift, the Commander stopped and cocked his head to the side, "Stormmaster, go."

Behind his visor, Stormmaster's optics took on a darker tint, "How bad? Have Uplink and a science team meet me at the LZ, full field-briefing loadout. I want a check run on all ships' systems and a confirmation; level one. Soundcaster, run through the TO of each ship in the fleet, how many are onboard, how many they can take. Have all trans-atmospheric shuttles and anyone with appropriate alt-modes ready on alert-five, if we have to pull a large scale dust-off, I want us ready. Stormmaster out."

Stormmaster slowly turned back the way from which he had come, "It appears, Chief Engineer, that the worst is yet to come."

Bodge-Job double-timed his way across the roof to the Commander, "What's the situation?"

"Reports of troubling sensor readings from the fleet, Chief Engineer... One of the lead scientists is coming down with a full report. You're free to accompany me to the landing field to recieve it personally."

"I think I had better," Bodge-Job agreed.

-o0o-

* * *

><p>Triplex Alpha colony,<br>planet Triplex-III, Triplex system  
>circa two million B.C., human Gregorian calendar.<p>

Uplink and his team had just finished setting up the briefing materials when Stormmaster entered the staging area, accompanied by one of the colonists.

"Report," the renegade Decepticon Ground Commander demanded.

Normally when asked to report on a subject, the self-taught scientist that was Uplink would begin an extended lecture touching on every possible aspect of the subject matter, just to ensure that he didn't neglect an area of possible importance. The fact that he said nothing and simply handed a dataslate to his commander spoke more than any words could. When the commander let out one of the hardest Cybertronian perjuritives possible, Bodge-Job knew he wasn't going to like what was on the dataslate before Stormmaster ever handed it to him. He was right and as soon as he had finished reading it, he echoed the other Transformer's words.

"That is one way of phrasing an appropriate vocal response, yes," Uplink agreed.

"And what would you call an appropriate physical response?" Bodge-Job asked, causing Uplink to look to his commander for confirmation.

"Well, answer him," Stormmaster glowered.

Uplink nodded, "If you'll follow me, we've prepared a visual representation of the situation to assist in reaching a conclusive response acceptable to all parties."

Bodge-Job looked at Stormmaster, frowning, "What did he just say?"

Stormmaster's answer was quick and succint, "If he doesn't want to be patching micrometeoroid impacts in the _Exodite_'s hull, it had better be that they've got a solution."

Uplink twitched at the possible punishment, a nervous gesture, "Yes, I believe we do. However, it might be best to make the full presentation in the presence of the colony leaders, Commander."

Stormmaster turned to Bodge-Job, "That would include you as Chief Maintenance Engineer along with who else?"

Bodge-Job thought for a moment, "At minimum? Lightbee, Administrative Director; Bore, Mine Foreman; Smackdown, Security; Patchwork, Chief Medical... and Hardwire, Chief Science."

"Get them here. Now."

-o0o-

* * *

><p>Field Briefing Tent, Staging Area,<br>Triplex Alpha colony  
>planet Triplex-III, Triplex system<br>circa two million B.C., human Gregorian calendar.

"In summation," Uplink looked at his listeners, "Changes in the Triplex system's secondary sun indicate a rapid increase in solar flares and associated radiation and electromagnetic phenomenoa... indicators of an oncoming solar storm that will engulf the Triplex system within the next vorn."

Lightbee put a hand on the hololith that was projecting a display of the Triplex system, four planets - two class-C, the class-M Triplex-III and the outermost class-K - all in orbit around the triple-suns from which the system took its name, "What will be the effects?"

"We are certain of electromagnetic pulses that would wipe unprotected computer systems and potentially affect planetary magnetic fields causing a polar reversal and resulting environmental upheaval," Uplink answered, "Depending on the size of the solar flares, there could be worse damage to the inner planets..."

Hardwire frowned as the predicted events played out again on the holographic projection, "That's not all, though, is it?"

Stormmaster looked to Uplink, who nodded.

"No," the Ground Commander answered for the scientist, "The conflicting radiations and sensor readings of the triple-suns are keeping them from making any confirmation... but the science teams believe there's the possibility that all this might just be the build-up... to nova."

"Nova..." Hardwire repeated the word, "You're talking about one of our suns exploding, Commander, how can you be so blaise about it?"

"Because right now," Smackdown interjected and answered, "It's better than panicking."

"Panicking? Who's panicking?" Lightbee rambled, "I'm not panicking - are you panicking?"

"I'm not panicking," Patchwork shook her head, "Worst-case scenario - what are we talking about?"

"Uplink," Stormmaster ordered.

"Best possible results of the worst-case scenario," Uplink narrarated as it played out on the hololith, "Complete annihilation of the first two planets in the system, cataclysmic damage to Triplex-III, possibly resulting in the planet being rendered uninhabitable. Absolute worst-case scenario is nova in Triplex-Secundus affects Prime and Tertius, resulting in a pre-natural supernova from all three, engulfing the entire solar system, with radiation fallout affecting the entire area of space for an indeterminate length of time."

"Is there any way to delay it or divert it somehow?" Hardwire asked.

"Not at this stage," Uplink answered, "The point of no return has already been passed."

Bore frowned, "So, what are you suggesting?"

Uplink's response was simple, "Evacuation."

The loud uproar from the Triplexian Transformers wasn't unexpected.

"What? Ridiculous!"

"It can't be that bad!"

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Have you blown a diode?"

"QUIET!" Hardwire shouted over the voices of his compatriots while noting that Bodge-Job had remained silent, then looked at the Decepticons and extended a hand, "Your data, if you please, for my own review?"

Uplink handed over the same dataslate that Stormmaster and Bodge-Job had reviewed earlier and Hardwire began to look it over, occasionally making noises of approval or disapproval.

"Well?" Lightbee spat out.

"Your calculations are off here... and here... and here," Hardwire pointed out, causing Lightbee's face to take on a triumphant cast.

"I knew a bunch of war-build interlopers couldn't be right," Lightbee started, only to be cut off by Highwire.

"_As I was saying_," the disagreements between the pedantic colony administrator and the scientist always looking for ways to make thing easier, more efficent and productive were somewhat legendary in Triplex Alpha and Hardwire felt no discomfort with verbally cutting his adversary off at the knees, "These calculations are off, resulting in a one-seven per cent variation in their probability matrix. Correcting these variables leaves the more destructive possibilities with a greater chance of occurance."

Uplink took the dataslate back and studied it, "You are correct. As scientific studies were not the reason for creation and my knowledge is self-gathered, I believe I can be excused - I will, however, be having words with those actual scientists among us who made these mistakes."

"Be that as it may," Stormmaster broke in, "In either case, the calculations aren't in favor of the Triplex system or anyone present - including Alpha colony. By whatever cause you see fit to claim is behind it, there is a fleet of ships currently orbiting Triplex-III with more than enough space to evacuate the entire Alpha colony complement along with any necessary materials from the colony itself. Anyone who wants to join us may do so, either as part of our group or simply as unattached refugees."

"This started out as a mining colony, didn't it?" Bore slammed his fist on the hololith, making the image jump, "I say we start digging and just let the scrappin' flares try and reach us!"

Bodge-Job shook his head and spoke, "That's a dangerous plan, we don't know how much protection that would afford us - we might simply end up digging our own graves."

"You got a better idea, Miracle Worker?" Bore asked.

"We accept," Bodge-Job answered, "Leave and come back when the magnetic storms are ended to rebuild."

"No!" Lightbee snapped, "I won't allow it! I will not abandon my post and I won't let any of you do so either, especially not based on the words of criminals and traitors. We have duties to the greater good of Cybertron! When this civil war is ended, the mineral and energy resources here will be needed to rebuild our world. In fact, Smackdown, I order you to take these traitors into custody - we'll present them to the High Council when us _loyal _Cybertronians win, we're sure to be rewarded..."

Further comments from Lightbee were cut off by a sharp cha-chunk sound as Stormmaster's particle cannons deployed and aimed themselves at the colony administrator. Lightbee looked around the tent to see that all the other Decepticons also had their weapons armed and aimed at thim.

"So," he sneered at Stormmaster, "Now you're showing your true colors; coercion and force. The Council was right about your little criminal uprising, 'Twin Storm'."

"What does he mean 'the Council was right'?" Patchwork queried aloud, "We lost communication with the homeworld so long ago, we didn't even know about the civil war until the _Exodite _and fleet arrived in orbit..."

"Or did we?" Hardwire came to a realisation, "Bodge-Job... When communications went out, you checked all the relays and confirmed it wasn't an equipment issue, correct?"

The green Transformer nodded, "I had my team check every relay - primary, secondary and backup - then I double-checked them all personally."

"Did anyone think to check the software?" Hardwire asked rhetorically, "Say for administrative lockouts and redirects?"

"No... We didn't," Bodge-Job looked at Lightbee as the Maintenence Engineer realised what the Chief Scientist was working towards, "You did, didn't you?"

"The colony didn't need to learn of what was happening," Lightbee defended, "There was no reason to let the actions of a few malcontents disrupt the daily lives and production of Triplex Alpha when the Security Forces were sure to deal with them in short order."

"You arrogant slagheap!" Bore roared as he jumped to his feet, "All this time we believed we'd been abandoned and it was _you_!"

"It was my duty and privilege as a leader in wartime to maintain the morale and loyalty of those the High Council saw fit to place under my guidance when I was sent here," Lightbee spat, "Something none of you have ever had the processor power to grasp..."

"Fine," Lightbee continued as he drew his blaster and pointed it at Stormmaster, "Since none of you can be counted on to do the right thing, I'll do it myself... For Cybertr-"

Lightbee's cry was cut off by Bore grabbing the hand that Lightbee's blaster was held in and squeezing them both until their metal began to give way.

"Who are you to decide what we should and shouldn't know about _our home_?" Bore snarled, "And for what? Pride? Loyalty to the High Council?"

"Or something simpler," Patchwork suggested in a calmer voice as she also stood up, "Did it give you some sense of power, Lightbee? The feeling that you were in control of the rest of us and better than us because of it - was that it?"

"For the last seventy-two kilovorns, we've been listening to you spout your High Council-worshipping static..." Smackdown shook his head in disappointment, trying to decide whether or not to draw his own blaster or whether the Decepticons' guns and Bore's hand would be enough to get the point through Lightbee's dense cranial casing, "Now we discover that we've lost our homeworld and we're faced with the possibility of losing our adoptive world and all you can do is continue to kiss the skidplate of a bunch of mechs that by the grace of Primus, the Decepticons have long-since killed?"

"The High Council are the leaders of Cybertron and as such deserve our allegiance!" Lightbee retorted, insulted that someone could speak against them in such a way.

Stormmaster spoke for the first time since Lightbee had made his power play, his query a simple one; "When the doctrine of allegiance to a political body can utterly up-end a being's moral constitution and make a temporary fool of them besides, what excuse are you going to offer for preaching it, teaching it, extending it, perpetuating it?"

"It was for the good of Cybertron," Lightbee repeated his stance, stowing his blaster so that Bore would release his hand, "The High Council promised to lead Cybertron into a greater age of prosperity and power and everything I've done has been to help them acheive that goal - despite the interference of you traitors - if Cybertron is ever to be restored to its ancient glory, the High Council needs our trust and allegiance."

"So you say the best good of a people demands allegiance to a political body?" Stormmaster shook his head and stowed his particle cannons, trusting in his fellow Decepticons and the Triplexians that seemed to be on their side, "Shall you also say it demands that one kick their truth and their conscience into the gutter, and become a mouthing lunatic as well?"

"You're the lunatic," Lightbee countered slowly backing away from the hololith, "I know what's really happening here - you're trying to trick us; you want us to abandon Triplex Alpha so you can use the colony and its resources to rebuild after the Security Forces have obviously dealt with the majority of your rebellion; your story about division between your leaders and an oncoming magnetic storm are just to make us let down our guards before you use us as forced labor, but I see... I see what you're doing..."

Uplink looked around at the other Triplexians before meeting the visor of his commander, "I believe the proper statement in this situation would be 'is he for real'?"

Behind his battle mask, Stormmaster frowned, "Unknown..."

Patchwork's optics glowed for a moment as she used her enhanced medical sensor suite to scan Lightbee, causing the Triplexian Medic to shake her head, "Energy flow, processor temperature, all register within standard parameters - he's for real, all right, he really believes what he's saying."

"Primus," Smackdown muttered, "He's a fanatic."

"We can deal with him later. Right now, we have to make a decision," Hardwire announced, attempting to return the meeting to its original purpose, "We can stay here and try to last out the storms... or we can accept the Decepticons' offer of transport."

Bodge-Job shook his head and put both hands on the hololith, "No, Hardwire, we have a much more important decision to make and we all - correction, most of us - know that. Perhaps more important than where we stand... so to speak... is what we stand for, who we stand with..."

The green Maintenance Engineer shuttered his optics before he continued, "I think we need to postpone the rest of this meeting while Patchwork officially removes Lightbee from his position so we can break his lockout and find out just what we haven't been told."

"Agreed," Stormmaster nodded.

"You can't do that! I won't allow you to destroy everything that has been built here," Lightbee shouted, turning to run only to be dropped as Smackdown drew his blaster and took out the former-Colony Administrator's knee servo with a well-placed shot.

"Ground Commander," Smackdown turned to look at Stormmaster, "Do you believe you could spare two of your personnel to help me escort Lightbee to a holding cell while the rest of you access those restricted files?"

-o0o-

* * *

><p>Dynamicon Broadcasting Network Headquarters<br>Kalis city-state, planet Cybertron  
>circa nine million B.C., human Gregorian calendar.<p>

"...So far, there's been no reaction from any of the city-states concerning these attacks," Esmeral said into the camera, "But-"

"I'm sorry!" A mech cut in from off-screen as he walked into the camera's field of vision and sat down beside her behind the newsdesk, "Esmeral, I'm sorry to cut in like this, but we have to... The city-states of Vos and Tarn have just broken away from the planetary government..."

Esmeral began to look around nervously.

The mech continued, "...in protest over the bombing of civilian targets in the Kaon region. They are setting themselves up as independent states until such time as the High Council is removed from power..."

"Don't do this," Esmeral tried to warn her co-anchor.

"The High Council doesn't want this information released," he continued, causing Esmeral to cover her optics with her hand, "But we have to go with this now, because I don't know how much longer we can stay on the air - armed troops have begun moving in on the DBN broadcast center here in Kalis; we just saw them coming around the corner. We're trying to get a camera down there to document what's going on... I can hear gunfire now, up here on the fourteenth floor...Listen to me, there's information you don't have! Things going on that we haven't been allowed to tell you!"

Before he could say what that information was, there was the sound of a loud explosion and part of the ceiling fell on the desk.

"Primus!" Esmeral swore.

"Get down!" The other anchor cried, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her down under the desk just as the camera feed was lost and everything went to static.

-o0o-

* * *

><p>Colony Administrator's Office<br>Main Colony Administration Building  
>Triplex Alpha colony<br>planet Triplex-III, Triplex system  
>circa two million B.C., human Gregorian calendar.<p>

"Primus," Patchwork swore as the seventy-kilovorn-old newsfeed cut off.

"That was the last message we recieved from the homeworld," Hardwire commented, tapping out a few commands on the console to make sure, "What happened after that?"

"...They claimed that DBN was a 'terrorist communications hub'," Uplink informed the Triplexians, "Of course, they brought it back shortly afterwards for appearances' sake, but it was merely the name, no one who worked there before was part of the 'new' DBN, which was just a High Council propaganda network."

"The first 'victory' in the war for the 'heroic Autobot defenders'," Stormmaster scoffed, "Some victory. Everything up until then were policing actions, raids, just civil unrest... but that was the beginning of the Cybertronian Civil War. It was in response to that attack by military forces on a neutral news outlet for refusing to be a mouthpiece that the Decepticons began the Darkmount Campaign to take the military citadel..."

Stormmaster's voice trailed off as his mind was no longer on Triplex-III, but back on Cybertron over seventy kilo-vorns before, "The beginning of the war... the beginning of the end... innocence, friendships, everything that our predecessors had been built ended in fire... a fire that we started..."

"And the ironic part of it all is... people, places, of all the factors that I might decide to alter if given the opportunity to do it over again, there's one key factor that I wouldn't change... Going against the High Council still seems as good an idea now as it did then," the black mech concluded, referring to his earlier conversation with Bodge-Job.

"After seeing that side of Lightbee earlier and now this," Hardwire observed, "I'm not sure I wouldn't make the same decision if faced with it."

"The production quota for our mineral and energy resources increased and then suddenly contact cut off," Bore commented, "At least now we know why... And it grinds my gears. A lot of good mechs got themselves damaged and some were deactivated trying to fill those quotas and none of it ever got where it was needed back on the homeworld. What a blasted waste... Almost makes me want to shoot those scrapheap Councillors myself."

"Few of us felt any problem with the thought of shooting the Councillors," Uplink observed, "It was the innocent civilians that they were essentially using as living shields and the well-meaning military and Security Force members that were not aware of the full facts that were between us and the Council where problems entered the situation."

Bodge-Job reached past Hardwire and entered a few commands in the computer, setting the last video to play over again silently, "We don't know what the current situation is on the homeworld, so we have to work from the possibilities that either the war is ongoing... or the High Council's forces have won, and they've already shown that they don't recognise neutral status. That means that whether we stay here or leave with the fleet, we only have two options; we fight... or we surrender."

"If we surrender, Lightbee will probably be placed back in the Administrator position and based on what we've seen recently, he'll probably have us all put in a detention center and replaced with others like him," Patchwork noted, "If we fight and lose... they'll probably kill us."

"They probably will," Bore agreed.

"They will," Stormmaster confirmed, "Another former Commander that split from the Decepticon Battlefleet, Deathsaurus, rescued Esmeral, but she was the last survivor of the former DBN employees, everyone else had been executed for 'sedition and treason'... Publically. I also can't make any promises about how the Battlefleet will respond if they discover your colony, I no longer know Megatron's spark, they could welcome you, they could ignore you... or they might kill you as easily as the High Council's forces would... As to us, I can't promise you anything, we're renegades twice-over, we have nothing to offer you in honors or wages, the only thing we can offer you is that if you fight with us and die with us, you will have died in the cause of freedom..."

Smackdown folded his arms and asked what he felt was a pertinent question to know the answer to before a decision could be made; "Why are you still running? It's been seventy kilovorns and you haven't found a place to rebuild, to rearm to fight for that 'cause of freedom'?"

Stormmaster tilted his head, "We've found many places, but we haven't found the right one... something drives us onward, we'll know we're where we're meant to be when we're there."

"It sounds like you're asking us to join you on some kind of religious quest," Smackdown frowned.

"Are you asking me if I think Primus or someone is guiding us?" Stormmaster queried, "Perhaps, whether it's Primus or fate, how else do you explain us not having found that place in the kilovorns since leaving Cybertron and instead being here, now, when we can be of the most use?"

"Considering that a third of the High Council is religious leaders, how can we trust someone who wants us to join them on a religious quest."

"Because unlike the High Council," Uplink answered for his commander, "Not one of us has been forced, impressed, enticed or decieved into following the commander; we've all willingly chosen to put our trust in his ideals."

"The choice is yours," Stormmaster finished.

Patchwork looked at the other three Triplexians before turning to Stormmaster, "Would you and your people give us some time alone to discuss the situation?"

-o0o-

* * *

><p>Colony Administrator's Office<br>Main Colony Administration Building  
>Triplex Alpha colony<br>planet Triplex-III, Triplex system  
>circa two million B.C., human Gregorian calendar.<p>

"If it were just us..." Smackdown shook his head, "It would be an easy decision... but we've got the entire colony, thirty-thousand Transformers, to consider, something that it seems a lot of people forget to do anymore..."

"And how many more on the other colony worlds, or the homeworld?" Hardwire asked, "How many people have to be on our same side first? How many people do we need to take into consideration before it becomes enough to do something?"

"And if it costs the lives of every Transformer on this colony?" Bore countered.

"We know the cost," Hardwire pointed at the monitor that still repeated in silence the last 'free' DBN feed, "We won't hide it from the rest. I thought you would've supported joining the Decepticons."

"Unicronian Advocate," Bore shrugged, looking at the others, "Bodge-Job... You were made to repair damaged equipment, not to cause the damage."

Bodge-Job shook his head, "There's a time to carry a spanner and a time to carry a blaster. If that's not in the Covenant of Primus, it should be."

Bore turned to look at the Chief Medical Officer, "And what about you, Patchwork? What use are the fine mind and skilled hands of a surgeon when they've been mangled in battle?"

Patchwork raised her right hand in front of her optics and looked at it for a moment before closing it into a fist, "Then someone else will have to do what I'll no longer be able to."

Bodge-Job shook his head in frustration, "War to the left of us, a supernova to the right, and here we are, trapped in the middle, facing destruction in some form no matter which way we turn... The only questions that remain, then, are how we die... and why..."

The green Transformer began to pace, "We can die for nothing, our systems wiped by the magnetic storms and maybe a hundred or a thousand Vorns from now, some exploration team will discover our remains and wonder what happened here with no one left to tell them..."

He paused and looked at the wall behind the Administrator's desk, at the red 'Face of Primus' image used as the symbol of the Cybertronian planetary government that was painted there, a symbol used in different variations by the High Council and the Elite Guard, city-state and colonial administrations, the Security Forces and the military, "We can die for a government that no longer represents us, that by its very lack of representation has made itself an enemy to everything we believe it. A government that appoints mechs like Lightbee to positions of authority and considers things freedom of the press and the right to self-determination to be inconvienences to their power..."

Turning to face the others, Bodge-Job shook his head again, "I don't know about the rest of you, but if I'm going to die, I want it to be for something worth dying for. For seventy kilovorns and more we've been seperate from Cybertron, from the planetary government and the High Council... why shouldn't we make that seperation official? Whatever the rest of you decide, I know what my choice already is; I'm leaving Triplex-III and, when the time comes, I'll fight. I'll fight for the civilians of Kaon and for those that worked at Dynamicon Broadcasting, I'll fight for the citizens of Tarn and Vos, for those Decepticons in the _Exodite_ fleet, for all of you here on Triplex... even for the very Transformers I'll be fighting against... because freedom, more than any colony, any homeworld, is something worth fighting, worth dying for... and if I die for that, it will be a good death, better than the other choices, so I'll fight, I don't know what the rest of you will do."

"I say 'fight'," Hardwire declared.

"Fight," Smackdown agreed.

"Fight," Patchwork nodded.

Bore looked at the others and made it unanimous, "Fight."

-o0o-

* * *

><p>Colony Administrator's Office<br>Main Colony Administration Building  
>Triplex Alpha colony<br>planet Triplex-III, Triplex system  
>circa two million B.C., human Gregorian calendar.<p>

Lightbee fumed as he was escorted into his own office as though he were some kind of criminal when he was the lawful Administrator of this colony. As soon as he regained contact with the High Council, he intended to see not only those 'Decepticon' terrorists, but the fools that wanted to support them and abandon their duty to the colony and the homeworld arrested, tried for treason and, hopefully, executed for it. Transformers like them weren't needed in the new Cybertron that the High Council and those who saw their wisdom were building. Looking around, Lightbee was disgusted as that jumped-up menial Bore was sitting at Lightbee's desk as though it were his own, the other four flanking him two to each side.

"Arrest them," Lightbee ordered the four guards that had escorted him there, when they didn't move, he demanded, "What are you waiting for? As Colonial Administrator, I order you to arrest them!"

Smackdown folded his arms across his chestplate, "I took the liberty of informing them of the contents of the last DBN news broadcast... and all four of them happen to be Kaonites."

Three of the guards turned and walked out the door, but the fourth one paused and drew back a fist.

"Highgun," Smackdown shook his head as the guard turned to look at him.

Growling, Highgun lowered his fist and, blatently shoving his way past Lightbee, followed his fellow guards out of the Administrator's Office. His optics following the guards, Lightbee saw something that he hadn't noticed on his way in, the 'Decepticon' leader stood next to the doorway, silently watching and judging, his lackey flanking the door on the other side.

"I'm so glad you're here, Lightbee," Bore informed him, "The other colony leaders and I have prepared a response to the unlawful and immoral actions taken by the High Council and to your own actions in support of them... Chief Engineer?"

"Emergency Broadcast System online, Bore," Bodge-Job informed the other mech, "You're on every audio transciever, vid-screen and holographic project in Triplex Alpha."

"Good," the Mine Foreman nodded, leaning forward, "Begin transmitting..."

"Go ahead."

"Transformers of Triplex Alpha..." Bore began, "As some of you may know, we have recently had our first contact with Transformers from Cybertron in over seventy-thousand vorns. Unfortunately, the news they brought with them is not good news. The news itself is not current, but to the best of our knowledge, Cybertron now exists in a state of civil war."

Lightbee clenched his fist as Bore announced information that he had worked hard to keep suppressed for so long.

"Over seventy kilovorns ago, Vos, Tarn and other city-states broke away from the Cybertron planetary government in response to attacks on civilian targets in the Kaon polity in an attempt to suppress a movement to remove the High Council from power. This information was kept from us by means of a communication blackout enacted by certain colony officials in support of these illegal actions. In light of this information and in response to those actions, Triplex Alpha now joins with them. We will remain an independant state aligned with the Decepticons of the _Exodite_ fleet until such time as we recieve confirmation that the High Council has been removed from power."

Bore shook his head regrettably, "Unfortunately, the situation does not stop there. Thanks to our new allies in the _Exodite_ fleet, we have discovered that Triplex Secundus is building up to a nova state that will engulf the system in magnetic storms. Myself and the other department heads have begun work on a plan to move the colony underground in hope that Triplex-III itself will shield us from the magnetic storms, but we can't be sure that will work. We also understand that not everyone will agree with our decision to secede. Therefore, anyone who wishes to leave Triplex Alpha, whether with the _Exodite_ fleet as refugees or as Decepticons, or to leave on their own to attempt a return to Cybertron or to rejoin forces loyal to the High Council... will be permitted to do so. That is all."

"Transmission off," Hardwire announced.

Bore's expression and those of the Transformers flanking him hardened, "And now, as for you..."

Lightbee took a step forward, "I don't know where you think you get the authority, but-"

The former-Colony Administrator was cut off mid-sentence when Bore reached across the desk and backfisted him.

"Our authority comes from the civilians murdered under orders from the High Council's administration, our authority comes from the members of this colony who choose to side with us to oppose the tyranny that has darkened our homeworld for too-long, our authority comes from every Transformer on Cybertron and on every colony who can no longer stand by and watch as our people fall into darkness," Bore informed him, standing up and leaning across the desk.

With a hand on his dented faceplate, Lightbee watched as all of the other colony leaders' digital plates turned from neutral blue to the same green that the Decepticons standing behind him wore.

Patchwork shook her head, "You're guilty of misrepresentation, abuse of power, tampering with secure communications channels..."

"Basically, enough that if we wanted to, we could probably have you executed," Smackdown interjected, "Which is actually what the Ground Commander over there suggested."

From behind Lightbee, Stormmaster growled lowly.

"But we're not the High Council," Bodge-Job continued, "We're not going to have someone killed just because they disagree with us."

"What then? Lock me up and throw away the access key?" Lightbee sneered.

"You have a choice, Lightbee... we can try you in the court of public opinion - in which case you'll probably be lynched," Hardwire informed him.

"I know Highgun will be glad to do it, too," Smackdown muttered.

"Or you can leave - quietly, with no one knowing you're going, never to return to Triplex system," Patchwork offered.

"And if I refuse your 'so-generous' offer?" Lightbee demanded.

"Then I drop you," Stormmaster spoke up from behind him, cannons deploying with an audible sound, "Right here and now. I'll catch flak for it, sure, and probably no one from here will join us afterwards, but they'll be free from the likes of you and if I have to pay the price for that, well..."

Hidden by his battlemask and visor, Stormmaster smirked, "It's a small price to pay, all things considered."

Lightbee turned to glare at the Decepticon, his hand twitching and giving away his desire.

"You want to pull that blaster again, go right ahead, but I wouldn't recommend it - my armor is five centimeters of beryllium alloy, intended to resist fusion blasts... if the ricochet doesn't kill you, it makes it self-defence when I do," Stormmaster warned.

"Bah!" Lightbee spat before he stomped past Stormmaster and out the door.

Stormmaster looked over at Uplink and gave a sharp order, "Follow him."

"Yes, Commander," Uplink nodded, quickly slipping out the door, leaving his Commander to shake his head.

"Coward... He doesn't even have the conviction to fight or die for the beliefs he claims," Stormmaster spat hatefully, "He somehow thinks he's above such things... just like the Council itself..."

"And you?" Hardwire asked.

Stormmaster chuckled humorlessly, "Fighting and dying are easy, it's living that can be difficult. Living with the decisions you've made, the lives you've taken... Maybe someday I'll even learn how to do it..."

The black Decepticon shook his head, "I have to go make arrangements, contact me when you have the numbers for those leaving with the fleet."

-o0o-

* * *

><p>Colony Administrator's Office<br>Main Colony Administration Building  
>Triplex Alpha colony<br>planet Triplex-III, Triplex system  
>circa two million B.C., human Gregorian calendar.<p>

"So," Smackdown looked around as the five remaining colony leaders spread out to circle the desk, "Who's staying and who's going?"

Hardwire drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment, "I guess part of that depends on the rest of the colony; no point in any of us staying if we're the only ones."

"What if everybody stays?" Patchwork asked.

"Then I guess my team and I will have a lot of digging to do," Bore answered, leaning back in the chair and putting his feet up on the desk, "Nice chair. Wonder how much of our pre-blackout resource budget went to Lightbee getting it..."

"You had to bring that up," Patchwork muttered.

"What's wrong?"

Patchwork folded her arms crossly, "After this, I'm going to be wondering just how far Lightbee interfered in things; budgets, communications, requisitions, he could have done anything and we might not know about it."

"You're right. You're absolutely right. We don't know what kind of..." Smackdown ran through terms in his head before settling on, "Situation... that Lightbee might have left behind him. Which also means that someone has to make sure that those staying are prepared in case there's anyone that agrees with him that might try something once the magnetic storms have started."

"You really think anyone's going to agree with him?" Patchwork asked.

"Agree with him, no... Be fooled by him, well..." Smackdown shrugged, "He's managed to fool us _all _for this long, hasn't he?"

Hardwire frowned, "I hate it when he's right like that. Anyway, if nothing else, I might as well stick around, it's an unprecedented opportunity to study solar storms from inside the affected area."

Bodge-Job looked at him, "I'm a maintenence engineer, a mechanical engineer, not systems and sciences, but hasn't any attempt to do that before been fatal?"

"Like you said," Hardwire reminded him, "We're all going to die somehow, I figure I might as well go out doing something nobody else has pulled off before."

"Well," Patchwork looked at the others, "I guess I'm staying too. Digging and solar storms, somebody's going to have to keep the rest of you wingnuts intact despite all your efforts to the contrary."

"If the rest of you are staying," Bodge-Job shook his head, "Maybe I should reconsider... after all, we'll have to rebuild and-"

"Bodge-Job," Bore interrupted, moving his feet off the desk and sitting up, "You need to leave. Not just for yourself, because it's calling to you, but for the rest of us... We've lost Cybertron, we have to face that fact. Our home is now Triplex-III, we're not going to abandon it, no way in the Pit. You're right; if we survive the storms, we'll have to rebuild... we'll need someone we can trust to bring the workforce and resources back to Triplex Alpha to help with that. More importantly, if we don't, if the storms take us, we'll need someone on the outside to tell our story, make sure we're not forgotten... to make it all worth it."

"I think that's the most philosophic thing you've ever said, Bore," Hardwire remarked.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," the Mine Foreman answered before continuing to Bodge-Job, "Besides, one of us has to go with any of the others that do, we owe it to them."

-o0o-

* * *

><p>renegade Decepticon flagship <em>Exodite<br>_orbiting planet Triplex-III, Triplex system  
>circa two million B.C., human Gregorian calendar.<p>

Standing on the bridge of the _Exodite, _Bodge-Job faintly remembered the first time he had seen Triplex-III; when Alpha colony was first founded so many kilovorns ago. Part of Bodge-Job kept trying to tell his central processor that fact should make him feel old, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. He felt young. Younger than he had in a long time, Despite all that surrounded it and all that caused it, the path he was starting out on made him feel as excited as he had when the world was new, before the foundations of the colony had even been laid. And yet, there was still a sadness...

"Somehow, Ground Commander," Bodge-Job remarked as he looked out the main viewport onto Triplex-III, "I have this strange feeling that I might never again see this place or those who decided to remain behind.."

Standing next to the Maintenence Engineer, Stormmaster slowly shook his head, "One thing I've learned in my time online, Bodge-Job, is that among the things you should never underestimate is the will to survive. I've seen beings fight to the last breath and then keep fighting just to take one more. Peoples defeated strive against their conquerors solely so it could be said 'they went down fighting'... Outnumbered, outmatched and outarmed, I've seen victory come to those who have had nothing to fight for but their lives and their freedom... The will to survive and the need to be free... never underestimate them, Chief Engineer, don't _ever_ underestimate them."

"Commander," Uplink spoke up from behind them, "Computations are finished for trans-light. The fleet is ready to depart whenever the order is given."

Stormmaster started to speak, then paused and looked over at Bodge-Job before nodding to the green mech.

"'From the stars we came, to the stars we return, until the end of time'," Bodge-Job recited from an ancient memorial service, "Take us to the stars, Uplink."


	17. Shines The Name : Legionnaire

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

* * *

><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"Dramatis Personae"  
>'Shines The Name'<br>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

-o0O0o-

"No, they've got no time for glory in the Infantry,  
>No, they've got no use for praises loudly sung..."<br>from The Ballad of Rodger Young

-o0o-

* * *

><p>Crystal City,<br>planet Cybertron  
>A.D. 2006, human Gregorian calendar<p>

Not everyone stands out. Among the ranks of the hard-chargers, the ace dogfighters, the combat engineers who work as though the enemy attack isn't even happening, the medics who run out into the kill-zone to retrieve an injured comrade, there's the grunt, the foot-slogger, the proverbial 'ape', they're the infantry and no army could survive without them. Calvary can charge a position and artillery level it, but it takes the infantry to hold one, to be able to go into an area and dig it clean a piece at a time.

The squad of Microns assigned to Legionnaire for the current mission walked beside him, weapons at the ready, as he slowly rolled through the rubble-strewn streets of the shattered city in armored car mode, turret-mounted 'Thor' assault cannon tracking back and forth.

"Beautiful, simply beautiful," one of the Microns - a Micromaster, to be exact - noted, "Even after all this time, the ruins still retain the refractory properties of the intact structures."

"Ride-Along," Legionnaire chided sharply, "Pay attention. We don't know what kind of fail-safes and Battlefleet fall-backs might be present."

"You heard the bulk, Ride'," one of the others remarked, "Get all scientific on your own time."

Ride-Along turned to glare at his squadmate, "Air-Lift, if you were half as intelligent as you were ugly, you might be worth getting into a debate with."

"Both of you be quiet," the squad leader snapped.

"Yes, sir," Ride-Along saluted.

"Whatever you say, Stretcher," Air-Lift merely touched two fingers to his optic ridge.

"Top of my class in medical training and I end up a glorified babysitter," Stretcher shook her head in frustration, "I should have taken that hospital job the humans offered."

Smoulder looked at his teammate, "And miss out on all of this?"

Stretcher narrowed her eyes at him, "And how would you like to wake up one morning as a toaster?"

Having some familiarity with human science fiction slang, Smoulder asked, "Cylon?"

"Bread," Stretcher answered sharply.

"You know, I've been a cooking implement before..." One of the other Microns spoke up, "It's not that bad, really."

"Shut up, Air-Lift," three Micromasters and a bulk chorused.

"Alright, alright," Air-Lift groaned, "Just tell me why the Autobots didn't send the Constructicon and the Guardian to do this? Since, oh, I dunno, they helped build the place in the first place?"

"Because Roadhauler was already assigned to the Autobot City reconstruction and... Omega Supreme said 'No'," Legionnaire admitted.

"Great, he said 'No', just like that. 'No' and we're stuck here traisping through the ruins of Brainiac City," Air-Lift ranted.

"Would you try to make a Guardian robot try to do something he didn't want to?" Smoulder asked.

"Eh, when you put it that way..." Air-Lift shrugged.

"Besides," the fire engine Transformer continued, "I can see his reasoning. If your best friend had turned on you and destroyed something you both loved, would you want to see the remains of it if you could avoid it?"

"Hey, fire-bot," Air-Lift snapped, "You're psycho-analysing me and I hate it, alright?"

"And all of you keep talking instead of walking," Legionnaire countered with an annoyed rev of his engine, "And _I _hate _it_."

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

"Moving from Grid Section 001 to Grid Section 010," Ride-Along commented for the record, "No anomalous readings so far."

"No bars to scrounge through and see if there's anything good left, either," Air-Lift muttered, "Intellectuals, ha!"

"Idiots, ha!" Ride-Along retorted in the same tone.

If he had been in robot form, Legionnaire would have cycled air, as it was, he simply addressed Smoulder, "Are they always like this?"

"Most of the time, yes," the Micron paramedic answered simply.

The armored car rotated his turret-mounted gun back and forth rapidly as though shaking his head, "I didn't _think_ I had done anything to the Commander... so what could I have done to deserve this?"

"Maybe you didn't do anything," Smoulder pointed out, "Maybe it was just your turn."

"I think that's worse," Stretcher added, joining in the conversation.

"I don't know," Smoulder countered, "The opposing argument is that Legionnaire - that any of us, really - has actually done something to deserve any and all bad things to happen to us. Since that's a far more discomforting thought than just random negativity happening to strike undeserving persons, I take comfort in the general cruelty and randomness of the universe."

"That's either the most insightful thing I've ever heard or the most depressing," Stretcher observed, "Maybe both."

"Sounds like something the Commander would say," Ride-Along interjected, breaking off his argument with Air-Lift.

Smoulder smirked, "Who did you think I'd heard it from?"

"I don't know, Anla'shok?"

"Did you have to stand on your head and look in a mirror to understand it?"

"No..."

"Then it wasn't Anla'shok," Smoulder chuckled.

"He does have an interesting way of looking at things," Legionnaire agreed, "Whenever anyone asks him where he disappeared to for that demi-vorn, he just says things like 'I was where I will be' and 'All things in balance, all things in time"... Cryptic responses if I ever heard one."

"It's not like we live in a perfect world or something," Smoulder shrugged, "No matter how hard anyone tries. That's why we carry blasters instead of an endless supply of energon goodies."

"Speak for yourselves," Air-Lift muttered, "I never can stand that universal greeting."

"That's because you consistantly mispronounce it," Ride-Along pointed out, "The last time nearly resulting in an intergalactic incident because you ended up propositioning the Crown Princess."

"Eh, how was I supposed to know about that whole thing they had with the higher up the food chain you were, the less you covered up?" Air-Lift attempted to defend himself.

"Maybe by reading the mission briefing beforehand?" Stretcher asked flatly.

Suddenly, Legionnaire's turret began tracking around, "What was that?"

"Air-Lift being an idiot again?" Smoulder asked, referring to the current topic of banter.

"No!" the bulk snapped, "Quiet... "

"Ambush!" Air-Lift announced, pointing into the air,

Ride-Along brought his sensor suite online and directed them where his fellow Emergency Respone Patrol Micromaster was pointing, "Drones inbound! Sensor readings match those Shockwave used while he was in control of Cybertron."

"Blast!" Legionnaire swore as he began to track the inbound targets, waiting for them to enter range for a shooting solution, "They must be left over from when the Battlefleet held Cybertron."

"I don't think so, sir," Ride-Along shook his head, "Unless they've got access to an intact energon dispenser or recharge berth in these ruins, their power levels are too high for that according to what I'm picking up."

Air-Lift raised his gun into a firing position, "Remember what I said earlier about boring patrols?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm a fraggin' idiot."

"I'm tempted to record that statement for posterity," Ride-Along informed his fellow Micron as he also brought his weapon to bear.

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

By nature of their design, Micron weapons were smaller than those of 'bulk' Transformers, meaning that they weren't able to have power packs as large or self-replenishing; that the shots they fired weren't as powerful in and of themselves, but that they made up for that with a higher rate-of-fire. That higher rate-of-fire proved its value as by working together, the Emergency Response Patrol managed to cause a near steady stream of drones to explode as they

"Can say this about those drones at least; they pop like human popcorn," Smoulder took the liberty of pointing out to a scoff of derision from Stretcher.

"Three more bags of popcorn inbound!" Stretcher announced as another wave of drones appeared.

"Eh, how much popcorn's in a bag?" Air-Lift asked sarcastically.

Legionnaire transformed to robot mode and set himself, bracing his assault cannon at his hip, "It's not how much is in the bag, it's how much of it goes pop."

Ride-Along shook his head, "This conversation's getting too metaphoric for me..."

"After this is over, I'll have you remodeled to have pointy ears," Stretcher remarked as she fired at the first drone to appear in her gunsights, "How's that sound?"

"Like a copyright infringement lawsuit waiting to happen," Ride-Along responded, "Next thing, especially if you had my alternate mode changed to some kind of starship while you were at it."

"Wouldja two mind flirting latter when somebody's not tryin' to kill us?" Air-Lift moaned in frustration as he began shooting drones.

"We're not flirting," both the ambulance and police car Transformers declared together.

"Uh-huh," Air-Lift shook his head.

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

"Damage report?" Legionnaire asked.

"Damage to all systems, all of us," Stretcher answered, "It's a good thing it stopped when it did... We couldn't take much more."

Ride-Along shuttered his optics and whispered, "Oh, no..."

"What is it"? Smoulder asked, putting his hand on his Patrol-mate's shoulder.

Ride-Along double-checked his sensor array, normally used for forensic investigation but fully capable in combat situations, the result didn't change, "Another signal inbound..."

Legionnaire looked over at the smaller Transformer, "More drones?"

"...I don't think so, sir..." Ride-Along answered softly.

"Direction?"

"Right in front of us."

Legionnaire looked up and in the direction indicated, stretching the range of his optics and other sensors to their max until he picked up the source of the approaching energy signature, "Oh, hell..."

Before anyone with him could ask what Legionnaire meant, he and the ER Patrol were sent flying by an X-Ray laser blast striking the ground merely meters in front of them.

"Logic dictates that your unstable element must be removed," a voice announced as the speaker landed before the scattered Martians as they recovered and reset their systems, getting to their knees and to their feet.

Even if he had seen the speaker at-range, Legionnaire was stunned, he had read the reports of what had happened during Unicron's attack on Cybertron, how the giant Transformer had physically crushed much of Darkmount, including the Battlefleet Operations Commander who had his base in the citadel, there was only one thought for which he could form the words, "It's Shockwave... he still functions..."

"Thank you, Commander Obvious," Air-Lift remarked, shaking his head and wincing as he stood up, "We'd have never figured that out without your help."

"Incorrect: Shockwave is no more..." The purple and grey Transformer announced, "I am now Shockblast."

"Remind me to contact the copyright office," Smoulder quipped, despite the fact that the sudden unplanned experience of being thrown through the air had opened up the rent which Stretcher had just welded shut.

Legionnaire saw the tip of Shockblast's cannon-arm begin to glow and quickly gave the order, "Spread-out formation!"

Stretcher and Ride-Along went left, Legionnaire paused to help Smoulder up and they went right, Air-Lift went straight up, clearing the area just as the second shot of high-powered radiation hit the location they had just been.

"Attack Pattern Alpha-Five," The bulk Transformer ordered.

Attack Patterns were a series of standard maneuvers used so that all members of a team in combat knew what to do and what their teammates were doing, the designation referring to the type of maneuver and the number being the specific maneuver to be enacted. In this case, 'Alpha-Five', at it's simplest, boiled down to 'everyone keep moving and shooting and try not to give the enemy a clear shot'. This was one of the many reasons Microns worked in teams, so that they could combine their firepower against larger targets. But this time, force concentration wasn't helping. After long minutes of following Pattern Alpha-Five, it became obvious that it wasn't mattering how many shots the Emergency Response Patrol were firing, they merely bounced off of Shockblast's armor. If it hadn't been for Legionnaire opening fire with his Assault Cannon and drawing the other bulk's attention every time Shockblast began to target one of the Microns, they knew they would have been dead quickly.

"Evasive Pattern Shon-Six," Legionnaire finally ordered, "Regroup on my location."

While the others were regrouping, Air-Lift noticed Shockblast raising his X-Ray Laser and begin charging it.

"I gotta be outside my mind," the airborne-Micron muttered to himself.

Then Air-Lift flew right at Shockblast, executing Evasive Pattern Delta and rocking back and forth to keep the Battlefleet Operations Commander from hitting him with any other weapons. When he was close enough that the other Transformer could almost reach out and grab him, Air-Lift broke hard left and released a small amount of thin pieces of metal from compartments in his lower legs, hoping that the suddeness of his actions and the countermeasures would be enough. It was. With Shockblast behind him, Air-Lift maintained Pattern Delta until he reached the location where the rest of his detachment had taken cover and quickly dived down to join them, just barely being missed himself by a lower-powered shot from their larger opponent.

"Ugh," Air-Lift groaned as his expelled some debris that had caught in his mouth when he landed face-first, "Never doing that again."

"Sure you will," Stretcher informed him, "Next time you're faced with a choice between eating dirt or getting your skid shot off, you'll choose to eat the dirt again."

"Ehh..." Air-Lift made a noise of derision.

"Shut up, Air-Lift," the rest of the ER Patrol cut him off.

"We're pinned down, communications are jammed, and except for the bulk's assault cannon, nothing we've got is even scratching that armor," Air-Lift pointed out as he twisted himself up to a sitting position after his dive for life, "If anyone happens to have some sparkly thing hidden in their chest that's supposed to be touched by Primus... eh, mind using it?"

"Unfortunately," Smoulder answered, "Matrices seem to be Autobot exclusives."

"Well, that's just great!" Air-Lift exclaimed, "Lousy favoritism showing Light God doesn't seem to care to put anything good in the warriors' hands, no, it has to go to the scholars and workers, don't it? Ain't that just great..."

"You're a Martian now, aren't you?" Legionnaire asked rhetorically, "Improvise, adapt, overcome, remember?"

"Ain't that the United States Marines' thing?" Air-Lift asked.

"The Commander borrowed it, now start improvising!" Legionnaire ordered, unleashing a burst from his assault cannon over the top of the rubble they were covered behind.

"What did he do?" Smoulder wondered, "Patch himself up with fragments from Unicron's body?"

"If he did, we'll need a starship or a gestalt to scratch it," Air-Lift answered, "We're definately not doing it."

"No, we're not," Legionnaire agreed, "When I give the signal, I want you all to break and get out of here as fast as you can; get to the nearest communications relay and contact Iacon or Kaon and have a full tactical detachment sent in with heavy weapons."

Ride-Along had a question about that plan, "What will you be doing?"

"Like the dust-off said," Legionnaire answered, "I'm the only one here right now who can fight Shockblast on equal terms and someone's got to keep him from stopping your escape."

"Are you crazy? This ain't no wargame, bulk," Air-Lift ranted, "In case ya haven't noticed, he's really trying to kill us - he'll kill you."

"Probably," Legionnaire agreed, "Forget the assault team. The _Reprisal _is in orbit... Stretcher, if I don't countermand in ten minutes, contact them and have this sector leveled with orbital fire..."

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" The ER Patrol leader demanded.

"No, I'm trying to get Shockblast killed! Now go!" Legionnaire shouted back before muttering to himself, "I just might die trying is all..."

"You heard the bulk, Patrol," Stretcher nodded, "Transform..."

Smoulder and Ride-Along transformed into their respective vehicle modes and revved their engines, while Air-Lift did the same and began to spin up his rotors. Stretcher, however, took a moment to exchange a look with Legionnaire, who nodded back at her, before she transformed into her ambulance alternate mode.

"...and let's roll for it!"

"Alright, you cycloptic slagheap," Legionnaire snarled to himself more than to Shockblast, "Let's see you logic your way out of this!"

The Martian Decepticon stood up and swung his assault cannon into a firing position before unleashing a hail of fire towards the Battlefleet Operations Commander. With Shockblast's attention focused on the attacking bulk Transformer, he failed to notice the four Microns make their escape.

"A waste of ammunition," Shockblast intoned.

Legionnaire's response was to steady, aim and fire again, the burst of shells finally succeeding in causing damage when it tore off one of Shockblast's antennae from the side of his head.

"Never heard of suppressing fire before, have you?" the green Martian Decepticon smirked, then fired again.

Whether it was a fired round or a ricochet, Legionnaire would never know, but this time a round managed to find a weak-point and penetrate Shockblast's armor, causing sparks to fly from the other Transformer's shoulder as it spaulded inside, tearing apart circuits and servos. In response, Shockblast forewent his original target and this time aimed his cannon-arm at the rubble that Legionnaire was partially obscured by and fired a different kind of radiation than his normal X-Ray; Atomic radiation that caused the metal to turn brittle until it could no longer support its own weight and collapsed, leaving Legionnaire unprotected. With no defences left, the Martian opted for a varient of the same plan which Air-Lift had used earlier, a plan that had been in countless militaries for untold ages; he attacked, charging straight at Shockblast over the dust that had moments ago been his protection.

Despite his self-serving interpretations of it, Shockblast operated based on logic. In June, A.D. 1944, human Gregorian calendar, a German officer refused to believe that the Allied Expeditionary Force was launching a full-scale invasion of Europe through the easily defensible bocage country, citing that it would be against military logic, against all logic. Shockblast didn't know anything about that event, even if his thoughts when being charged by Legionnaire - who he had proven he had outgunned and out-armored, and thus who should have no logical way of winning - were the same; that it was against military logic, against all logic. But Legionnaire wasn't caring about logic when he brought his assault cannon up and slammed the barrel of it across Shockblast's face.

'"Just got to hold out..." the Martian muttered to himself, "for five more minutes..."

Then Shockblast's manipulator hand shot out and drove through Legionnaire's armor plating and into his torso.

"Logic dictates that your unstable element must be removed," Shockblast repeated his earlier statement, twisting his hand while he did so, "Prepare for termination. It will be... fast."

"Suck fumes," Legionnaire retorted through clenched dental plates, raising his assault cannon until the end of the barrel was pressed against the already damaged shoulder of Shockblast's manipulator arm.

Firing a weapon from such a position typically results in one of two outcomes; the barrel is blocked from allowing the projectile and gases to escape and ends up being blown up by them, or with no distance to lose velocity over the projectile tears through whatever is blocking it with its maximum momentum. At that moment, Legionnaire was hoping for the second but knew that he was close enough to Shockblast that even the first result had the potential to be effective. With those two facts locked securely in his processor, Legionnaire pulled the trigger. Bullets flew, tearing through already weakened and strained metal, sending shrapnel flying until Shockblast's arm was severed and Legionnaire fell to the ground, his opponent's arm still hanging from the hole in his torso. As Legionnaire landed, his optics looked up to the sky and saw as the sky turned brighter than day, the source of the light approaching fast. Shockblast saw it too and began to walk away, intending on leaving what he considered a traitor to the Decepticon cause to his rightful fate so that the former Operations Commander could replace his arm and begin the process of locating the remainder of the Decepticon Battlefleet and bringing it under his control to finish what Megatron had begun.

"Who said..." Legionnaire demanded as he pulled his assault cannon up to his chest and aimed it at Shockblast, he could feel his systems beginning to shut down from the internal damage that the other Decepticon had inflicted, "...you could..."

Legionnaire winced before he finished, "Leave?"

Shockblast did not stop, merely throwing out a single observation, "Continued conflict is illogical, your deactivation is already imminent."

Legionnaire's answer was to open fire, untargeted fire simply intended to keep Shockblast from leaving the area. By sheer chance, it worked. Rounds penetrated weak points in Shockblast's joints and did their damage, then it seemed that a round hit a fuel line in Shockblast's leg as it seemed to explode, blowing apart from the knee down with shrapnel from it damaging the other leg and the sudden loss of the limb causing Shockblast to drop to the ground. The Martian's shooting came to a sudden stop with his assault cannon's ammo load clicking out empty.

As a Decepticon, Shockblast was equipped with the flight systems that were standard for most warriors and that most other Transformers who joined the Decepticons were refit with; systems that with severe damage and impending destruction he attempted to engage to allow him to escape and once more affect repairs and upgrades to his bodyframe based on the information gathered in the preceding combat; systems that failed to engage. With the particle beam from above growing ever closer, he began to use his cannon-arm and semi-functional leg to attempt to crawl away from the incoming orbital strike.

Knowing that his opponent wouldn't be able to escape in time, Legionnaire looked up into the light... and laughed.

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

Author's Note; In the first run-through, Air-Lift's name was actually Gyrotor, a corruption of gyrocopter and rotor... It got changed when the details of the ER Patrol were finalised. Hey, it's still better than Ro-Tor. The original Gyrotor name ended up being used for a different Transformer that appears in "Dramatis Personae: Bumper".


	18. Through The Shattered Looking Glass

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, copyright Hasbro, Seibertron's Heavy Metal War game, or War For Cybertron, just the characters that I created for my own usage on said games. I'm not making any money off of them, I just play the games for fun.

Author's Note; Shattered Glass, can take it or leave it. Things like Foursquare and Twitter aren't to my personal taste, so neither are 'Boxball' and 'Yatter'... but SG Ravage is simply awesome as a character. He stands out, he makes you take notice, he refuses to be pushed to the background... usually because it's not worth as many points on Boxball, but still... After reading about SG Ravage, I was reviewing my files on the different Decepticons of Mars and when I got to Soundcaster and his own Recordicons, specifically Kareoke who is described as cheerful, hyper and always wanting to sing her namesake, I had a chill go down my spine at the thought of 'What would happen if she ever met SG Ravage'?

So of course, it had to happen...

I apologise in advance for any inaccuracies in SG Ravage's form of speech - I'm not that familiar with 'lolspeak'.

* * *

><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"Dramatis Personae"  
>'Through The Shattered Looking Glass'<br>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

-o0O0o-

* * *

><p>Decepticon base, Valles Marineris<br>planet Mars, Sol system

"Personal Log, Stormmaster. Time travel gives me glitches, but that's nothing compared to dimension jumping. ...Probably part of the reason I get uncomfortable whenever Anla'shok talks about his training on Minbar, considering there's no such planet in this universe, but I digress... Imagine a world transformed, a place where things are not what they seem, where familiar faces hide strangers, fierce new enemies and brave new allies... Imagine that world colliding with ours...

I don't have to imagine, it already has. But that's a story and like all stories to be told, it has to start at the beginning..."

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

Southwestern United States of America  
>planet Earth, Sol system.<br>The Beginning.

He didn't know where they were, how they had gotten there, or for that matter even when they were or anything else about their situation. The white and blue mech only knew one thing for certain; his cranial unit hurt like someone had put it in a power hammer and left it there for a few hours.

Sir Soundwave shook his head and grimaced at the sudden explosive sensation the movement caused, "Ugh, like, sound-off, dudes..."

Buzzsaw was the first to respond, picking himself up before unleashing a burst of binary.

"I dunno, my little gold friend," Sir Soundwave admitted, "Whatever happened, it was a massive wipe-out, that's for sure."

The grey form of Laserbeak took to the air and circled a moment before responding, "Everything ends up being a wipe-out or 'rightous' with you."

Frenzy rubbed the back of his grey-helmed head, "Hey, it could be-umph!"

Sir Soundwave had covered the blue and grey Recordicon's mouth with his hand and frowned, "Don't finish that sentence, Frenzy. Fate doesn't like being tempted, she gives in to it too easy."

"Uh, who Fate?" Overkill asked, looking around, "Me no see nobody but us."

Slugfest thumped his tail on the ground, "Fate no person, fate mean supposed to happen, like me, Slugfest's fate be best Dinocon ever! Fate great!"

"Oh, shut up," Laserbeak muttered.

"You no fun! Me, Slugfest no want be around bird-thing no more!" Slugfest thumped his tail again.

"Ravage?" Sir Soundwave asked, looking around, "Ravage?"

Buzzsaw fired off more binary, causing the bulk Transformer to cycle air through his systems and reach behind some rocks.

"Ravage, when I call your name, you kind of need to answer, y'know?"

"BRB," Ravage answered absently, "I is on interwebs..."

"Well, at least we know we're close to Earth and there's still an internet..." Sir Soundwave noted, "Eh, Ravage'll be happy if nothing else."

"WTF!" Ravage burst out, only to get rapped on his head by Sir Soundwave.

"Language, little cat-dude," the bulk reminded him, "Keep it PG-13 at the most, okay?"

"All favs coming up 404," Ravage answered back.

"All of them?" Frenzy asked.

"Alls," Ravage confirmed.

"Try a search engine," the roboti-form Recordicon suggested.

"I gots 1," Ravage announced after a moment, "What nows?"

"See if you can't find a map or something, Ravage," Sir Soundwave instructed, "Maybe we can start finding out where we are by finding out where we are."

"If that was supposed to make sense," Laserbeak commented, "You failed miserably."

"USA map FTW!" Ravage cheered, then frowned.

"As Judy Garland famously said," Sir Soundwave said upon seeing the map of a very different United States of America than the one he remembered, "'I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto'."

"No," Frenzy pointed at the map, "Kansas is in the Midwest. I think we're somewhere in the Southwest. Looks like Arizona, actually."

"And there's California," Sir Soundwave informed him, pointing at another part of the map, "Which is not underwater, if you'll notice."

"Maybe we traveled back in time?" Frenzy asked dubiously.

"Clock sync... nope, GMT minus 7," Ravage answered.

"And the date?" Laserbeak remarked.

"Heys, still Mem-Day weekend!" Ravage exclaimed after a moment.

"So not time travel," Frenzy concluded, "If we haven't travelled through space and we're still in the American Southwest... and we haven't travelled through time because it's still the same day... that just leaves one possibility..."

Sir Soundwave nodded, understanding where the Recordicon was going, "I'll second that, bro."

"Hey I cant check n on Boxball," Ravage exclaimed, drawing everyone's attention.

"That's because we're in another dimension, little kitten," Sir Soundwave explained to him.

"I noes. Otherworld worth 5pts," the white and blue cat-former pouted, "Needs 2 logon & check n 4 them."

"Another dimension... without Boxball," Sir Soundwave expanded upon his previous statement.

"We gone 2 bad place?" Ravage shuddered.

Sir Soundwave transformed into his van mode and began seeking through the radio channels until he found what he was looking for.

"...We walked together hand in hand; across miles and miles of golden sand; but now, it's over and done; for that was yesterday; and yesterday's gone..." came over the radio.

The bulk Transformer returned to his robot mode and gave an assured nod, "Good news, lil' Bros, the heart of Rock and Roll is still beating."

"Oh, there's rock and roll, great, we're saved," Laserbeak commented drolly.

"Lighten up, Bro," Sir Soundwave gently tapped the avian Recordicon on the head, "If nothing else, now we know there's something here worth fighting for."

"Why bother fighting? We beat them, they'll wait a few centuries and try again; they beat us, we'll wait a few centuries and rise back up. The fighting will never end, so what's the point?"

Sir Soundwave gave Laserbeak a dirty look, "You're really cruising to be reformatted to 8-Track, y'know..."

Overkill looked at Sir Soundwave in confusion, "Why eight-track? What happen to other tracks?"

The knighted Transformer groaned, "Know what, just forget it, okay?"

The Recordicon blinked, "Forget what?"

Buzzsaw opened his beak and unleashed another burst of binary, announcing incoming Cybertronic lifeforms.

"Careful, guys," Sir Soundwave cautioned, "Don't know where we are, so we seriously don't know who they are."

Almost as soon as he had finished speaking, dark shapes filled the sky, descending to the ground and a number of Transformers, unfamiliar and wearing an equally unfamiliar insignia, landed and surrounded Sir Soundwave and the Recordicons.

The while-and-blue mech slowly raised his hands and said the only thing he could think of, "Um... We come in peace, dudes?"

Laserbeak turned his head to stare at the larger Transformer for a moment, "Could you have come up with anything more cliched?"

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

Decepticon base, Valles Marineris  
>planet Mars, Sol system<br>later that day

The insignia was different, the names and the faces were new, but the attitudes and goals were those of the Decepticons he knew, so Sir Soundwave was finding himself comfortable sitting across the desk from the commander of these Decepticons in their base on Mars.

With Sir Soundwave having finished his story, the black-and-grey mech cycled air and leaned forward, knitting his fingers together as he put his elbows on his desk, "We've had a few cases of time travel and dimension hopping, this is actually nothing new."

"For me neither," Sir Soundwave shrugged and put his hands behind his head as he leant back in the chair and kicked his feet up onto Stormmaster's desk, "Third here - one righteous version of CJ popped in on us and decided to hang around; me and some buds ended up chasing Ultramags into another world and bringing its Earth back with us before he trashed the place, now this - I'm telling you, black-truck-dude, I'm starting to think interdimensional frequent flyer miles would be a most excellent idea."

Standing behind and to Stormmaster's left, Athena's optic ridge raised behind her visor, she had heard her partner called many things over the vorns, but 'black-truck-dude' was a completely new one to her; factually discriptive, but new. Stormmaster himself was actually amused by it, he was mercurial like that; he could just as easily have decided that it was worthy of a backhand across the faceplate.

The Commander of the Martian Decepticons gave a low 'hm' sound - a habit developed by interaction with the Humans - before he spoke,"Until we figure out a way for you to return to your home dimension... which will probably involve figuring out how you got here in the first place - feel free to remain here on Mars or on Earth under our aegis. I'll let the Autobots and human authorities know that, as well as the other Martians... but you still might want to take care at first, especially your Recordicons, while you have the benefit of a different alternate mode from your native counterpart, they share theirs with their own counterparts and with the ease of a new paint-job, well..."

"Right, some of the locals might end up thinking my evil twin and his gang are trying to slip in under new colors," Sir Soundwave answered casually, "Got it, no problem, bro'. After all, can't hurry love."

"Don't talk of 'love', show me that I'm not making a big mistake by letting you walk around free instead of locking you in a brig," Stormmaster countered.

"Sure thing, man, I'll do my best to prove I'm right where I need to be until you guys can get me and my little friends sent back home, cool?"

"Hm..." Stormmaster frowned behind his battle mask, "Time will reveal on that. Until then, go do... something... so I can deal with all the extra work this has given me."

"Sure thing, bro'," Sir Soundwave stood up and stretched, "You're the king of kings here, after all. I'll just go walk around and get used to the digs."

"It's after midnight local time," Athena observed.

"So? Any problems if I go a walking after midnight?"

"No, just don't get into any trouble," Stormmaster shook his head and cycled air through his systems, "Another Saturday night on Mars..."

Sir Soundwave walked over and opened the door before calling over his shoulder, "I'm sure everything will look better come Monday, y'know?"

"You know what bothers me?" Athena remarked after the door had sealed itself behind him, walking forward and perching on the corner of Stormmaster's desk, looking down into his visor.

Stormmaster leaned back in his seat, never breaking optic contact, "I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"He's not a cassette player," Athena answered, "The Soundwave from here's a cassette player, why isn't he?"

"The circumstances of his arrival on Earth were different, remember?" Stormmaster answered, "At least this way we'll have an easier time telling them apart."

"So you actually believe his story?"

"I believe that when someone lies they usually try to make it believable... His story is definately hard to believe if it weren't for evidence like the differing alternate modes, so that gives me good reason to think he's telling the truth."

"Let it never be said that, however warped it is, you can't be logical," Athena chuckled.

"I learned from the humans," Stormmaster added in a deadpan.

Athena's optic ridge raised behind her visor.

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

Valles Marineris  
>planet Mars, Sol system<br>The next day.

Unlike Optimus Prime's Autobots that had been on the Ark or Megatron's 'elite' Decepticons that had joined their commander in attacking the Autobot spacecraft, the Decepticons that had settled on Mars hadn't spent eight million Earth years in stasis, they had been active the entire time of their Exodus, they had been many places, they had seen much, some had seen more than others. But for all the things he had seen over the vorns, Stormmaster actually felt he had to raise his visor and look with bare optics to see if he was seeing what he was thinking he was seeing, because seeing Soundwave - any Soundwave - actually lounging in the sun was not something he was accustomed to, "Are you okay?"

Sir Soundwave raised a hand in the universal - and appearantly trans-universal - sign for 'rock on', "Yeah, bra', just hanging out and soaking up some sweet Martian rays - letting Mother Nature and self-repair systems do their thing, y'know?"

"I've never actually seen anyone do it this way," Stormmaster admitted, then added, "I wasn't aware you were damaged in your arrival."

"Nah, man, body's fine," Sir Soundwave corrected, tapping his chest, "But the ember's sad. For all its problems, I liked Earth and the US, right? The government might've been some bad dudes, but the people are just like you and me, they're something worth fighting for."

Stormmaster sat down beside the other Decepticon, taking care not to drop and stir up dust while he did so, "I understand. The Autobots here might have agreements with the United States government and may be accepted by the people in Oregon as neighbors, but they keep themselves seperate from the humans for the most part."

"'Seperate, but equal'," Sir Soundwave remarked, "Seems I've heard those words before, bro."

"Plenty," Stormmaster agreed, "And they've never meant anything good, no matter where or when they were said."

"What about you?"

"We do what we can to help on a more personal level; people, towns. Some of us even have jobs."

Sir Soundwave nodded, knowingly, "Cabs."

"Not as many as you might think," Stormmaster corrected, "Emergency services, lab assistants, technical advisors... one mech even has an agreement to do promotional work for an entertainment franchise..."

"Anything I know?" Sir Soundwave asked hopefully.

"Maybe," Stormmaster answered, "What kinds of movies have been pop culture hits for your world?"

"Well," Sir Soundwave drew out the word before he began listing movies.

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

Elsewhere  
>Valles Marineris<br>planet Mars, Sol system

The Martian Recordicons each had unique tastes in music from classical to heavy metal even to such things as Electronic Voice Phenomenoa, but the avian Kareoke had perhaps the most eclectic taste of all her siblings - the rest listened to their favorite genres of music, she didn't care what it sounded like as long as she could sing along to it, leading to an interesting habit of going so far as to talk in song lyrics. She liked to fly almost as much as she liked to sing and she liked to sing a great deal, a good day for the white and blue Recordicon was one where she could fly and sing and enjoy herself, and to Kareoke, it was looking to be a great day. It was looking to be such a great day that when she saw the strange white and blue cat-former padding around the city and moping, she had to do something so brighten their day back up, so she swooped down and landed in front of them.

"Hey, Carrie Ann, what's your game now, can anybody play?"

"Game over. No wai 2 check n2 Boxball... or update my Yatter feed... no Rosanna 2 chat w/..." Ravage listed off listlessly to the equally white and blue hawk-former, "My life is over..."

"Boxball?" Kareoke tilted her head to the side.

"Kewl Internets site, u check n from places & get pts 4 it," Ravage explained, "and Yatter is msg'ing n 140 characts."

"Oh," Kareoke flapped her wings, "All wild-eyed and crazy, no matter where my reckless soul takes me... baby, you save me!"

"Wuh-huh?" Ravage looked at her in confusion.

"What you want, baby, I've got it," Kareoke replied, "Playground and Gabber!"

Ravage perked up, "U r not joking?"

"Cheer up, Sleepy Jean, oh, what can it mean, to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen," She sang out.

"Yay! I can lives again!" the feline Recordicon cheered, then he suddenly stopped and frowned, "No wi-fi signal?"

With a quick blast of jets, Kareoke had shot through the air to land on Ravage's back, "There's a plane flying outta here tonight, destination New Orleans, boss-man says my big promotion's on the line, says that's right where I need to be!"

Ravage cocked his head in confusion, "Wuh?"

Kareoke pointed with a wing, "Communications is thataway and they got a line to Earth!"

Ravage gave a sound of pleasure and took off at a quick trot with Kareoke still on his back.

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

Valles Marineris  
>planet Mars, Sol system<p>

Stormmaster and Sir Soundwave were deep in conversation, but not so deep that they didn't notice it a few minutes later as the pair of white and blue Recordicons went by, Kareoke riding on Ravage's back as the two conversed in their own unique styles.

As soon as his audio receptors and processor were able to process what the two smaller Transformers were saying, Stormmaster turned to look at Sir Soundwave, "It's the end of the world as we know it."

"Yes," Sir Soundwave replied, "But remember, 'It's the end of the world as we know it... and I feel fine'."

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

Author's Note: Bonus points to whichever reader catches the most song titles and lyrics used in this Personae.


End file.
